Method of Madness
by riokoto
Summary: He pushed the blade deeper into my throat, and I could feel the vibration of his voice as he spoke from behind me to the frightened crowd. It was fascinating to see the chaos he created—the fear he struck into their hearts with every word, while it only made my feelings for him stronger. (Nolanverse Joker/Harley. Rated T. For now.)
1. In the flesh

_A few notes before the chapter—first of all, this is Nolanverse. As much as I love the comic Joker with all my heart, I'm currently obsessed with Heath Ledger's portrayal, and wanted to try my hand at writing him. I imagine that since Nolan's Batman is a bit more realistic, Harley would be more realistic, too, and not as ditsy. Also that it'd take more sessions and mind manipulation to conform her to the Joker's side. My story will explore their sessions together, and will continue on to her time as Harley Quinn._

_At least, that's what I'm planning. I have a lot of idea's I'd really like to share, but if you want me to keep writing, please review! It takes a long time to write a chapter, (I plan on each being around 3-5 thousand words) so it'd be nice to know I at least have an audience. So drop a review to lemme know you're interested, or at least that you're reading, and that I'm not just writing for a ghost town. You can leave some ideas, too, and as usual, constructive criticism is welcome._

_Anyway, tldr. Onto the story!_

* * *

I swallowed an Advil as I pulled into Arkham, past The Narrows, and stepped out of the car. I'd been working at Arkham for about three months now, but I still wasn't used to driving through The Narrows. I wasn't sure if time would ever fix that.

I sat in my car for a bit, completely unmoving as I rested my forehead on the steering wheel and waited for the pain-killer to kick in. I wasn't normally prone to headaches, but it was one of the milder side effects of working at Arkham.

Slipping on my white Arkham lab coat that I threw on my passenger seat every day after work, I walked through the doors of the institution, squinting my eyes as they adjusted to the fluorescent lights. I didn't have weak eyes, (though one could argue that, considering the glasses that adorned my face—they were barely needed, but it didn't hurt to look a tad more professional) but the difference between Gotham's permanently gloomy sky, and the constant eerie glow of the Asylum was a sudden change, and you always had to blink a few times.

Walking through the halls of the asylum, the only noises were the tapping of my heels against the glossy floor, and the feverish chatter of the nurses. Normally their little gossip sessions were about who was sleeping with who within the staff, or who was cheating on who. This time, though, I knew it was something entirely different, and with good reason.

The Joker.

I could hear them whispering his name hesitantly, as if afraid that saying it would somehow summon him.

The Joker was, of course, common conversation here in Arkham, but since yesterday, you couldn't go anywhere without hearing his name.

Yesterday, Batman brought him in.

I had only ever seen the Joker before on Google, newspaper articles, or if I was lucky, footage on the news. Even though I'd been in Arkham for three months, the Joker was never present for any of the time.

Until last night, of course.

I only saw the back of his mussy green hair as the two passed, Batman pulling him roughly and the Joker talking to him in a low voice. I didn't get to see his face, but just seeing his back had an impact.

I was a little disappointed they didn't allow the patients any personal belongings in Arkham, since that meant I wouldn't be able to see him in the flesh, all the while done up in his classic clown mask.

_What am I thinking?_ I inwardly scolded myself. _That guy's dangerous. Better to stay away._ _Besides, I'll be lucky to even see him __**at all**__, make up or no._

Anyway, because of that, The Jokers name was being thrown around all over the Asylum, and everyone was on their toes. Like me, a lot of the nurses had never been in the same building as the Joker before, considering nurses are constantly changing at Arkham. There were a few older, worn out nurses, and the Jokers arrival seemed to barely affect them, if at all.

With his admittance back into Arkham, Gotham let out a sigh of relief, content in knowing that the madman was off of the streets and locked up, even if only temporarily. For Arkham employees, however, we never got to breathe that sigh of relief. When he's in the Asylum, we have to be cautious, and when he's on the streets, we still need to be cautious. We never escape from the loonies we lock up in here. You can take the person away from the asylum, but you can't take the asylum away from the person.

Despite that, I decided to work here instead of a cozy hospital up north like my mom wanted. I did occasionally wonder what it would have been like if I decided to make my internship at the hospital a full time thing, and just leave Arkham. But I knew that would never actually happen, and so did my mother.

Arkham was exciting, unlike a cozy little hospital, and by working here I got the opportunity to see various complex minds, no matter how deep into insanity they may be. I'd much rather be in Arkham and help the loonies, than be in a Hospital and talk to people who're merely depressed or just need to get something off of their chests.

Even with all that said, however, I'd yet to talk to a truly insane person, or anybody at all worth noting. I'd only had three patients in the three months that I'd been at Arkham, and none of them were real cases.

The first man, Tom Davis, strangled his girlfriend and claimed madness to get out of the slammer. Through the sessions, though, I'd discovered that he didn't want to get _out_ of jail, but _into_ Arkham. He was a hardcore Joker fan, and only wanted to be in the Asylum with him. One could argue that loving the Joker alone was lunacy in itself, but the court decided to send him to jail 2 weeks ago. Too bad for Davis, he _just _missed the clown.

The other two were both girls, a dog walker who would kill the canines, and the other a bride-to-be, if it wasn't for the fact that she killed her fiancé. Both were sane, and only taken to Arkham to be examined for 'precautionary' measures. I haven't had any real cases yet, and it was getting tiring.

I knew I was fresh out of College—nobody failed to remind me of that fact every day—, but I always had the highest grades in all of my classes, and although I wasn't cocky enough to think I was even _close_ to ready for someone like The Joker, or even The Riddler or Harvey Dent, I at least wanted _someone_ who actually _needed _help, somebody with a complex mind that I could immerse myself in.

I already knew that I would be looked down upon for my young age, twenty six, and my appearance didn't exactly _scream _of maturity. I had considered dying my hair brown at one point, but quickly decided against it. They would see in time that I was capable of handling more serious patients.

Even with all that said I still stubbornly wore my reading glasses which, in all honesty, didn't help much with my sight, but was successful in giving me a slightly more dignified look.

I shoved all personal thoughts to the back of my mind to deal with later as I continued walking, planning on heading straight to my office to fill in the last of my paperwork on the fiancé-killer.

I turned when I thought I heard my name, and looked over to a circle of nurses who were whispering furiously, their eyes occasionally darting over to me. Even though I'd been working here for three months, the gossip and criticizing hadn't exactly ceased (not that I expected it to until I could prove myself) but I didn't think a few nurses who would probably quit at the end of the month, in tears no less, had any right to be whispering about me.

The dull leftover pain of my headache stopped me from caring, however, and I decided to just block them out as I passed by them and to my office. Once I entered my office, though, I was met with a sight I wasn't exactly expecting.

Dr. Patel, the head honcho of Arkham, the Director who ran the place when Dr. Arkham wasn't here (and that was basically all the time) was leaning against my desk, the front of his slicked back hair falling into his left eye.

I stood in shock for only a second before I reacted, closing the door behind me. I looked at him uncertainly from behind my glasses, and he pushed up his own.

"Dr. Quinzel," He said, his strong voice seeming even louder in the small, quiet space of my office.

"Dr. Patel. I assume you're here to collect my notes from the Walker case? Just allow me to get them in order an—"Patel raised his hand, silencing me. He couldn't have been _much _older than me, late thirties to early forties, but he still gave off such an air of authority that it felt as if I was speaking to someone who was both of our ages combined.

"Dr. Quinzel, don't assume what I'm here for before I have a chance to actually reveal it. _You _of all people should know better than to jump to conclusions." He raised an eyebrow at the end, His green eyes not letting go of mine. I didn't miss the message.

"Of course, Dr. Please go on. But if it isn't anything urgent…" Leland had asked me to hand in those notes soon, and if he was just here to try and tell the newbie to get him a coffee, he could go straight to—

"Oh, I assure you, it _is _urgent. I think you'll be quite pleased with what I'm about to tell you." He swept his brown hair out of his eyes now to get a better look at my reaction, and we both knew what I was thinking. He was going to give me another case, wasn't he? Patel stood there for a moment, staring at nothing and rubbing the little bit of stubble he had, which was slightly gray, showing where he couldn't dye.

Despite the situation, I found myself hoping I didn't get grays so young. Then again, if I stayed here, I'd probably go gray by thirty.

Apparently Patel realized that his dramatic pause had done nothing but cause me to lose interest, and he cleared his throat and took off his glasses, putting them in the front pocket of his lab coat. "Contrary to…_Popular _belief, I know you're an intelligent woman, and I'm going to give you a chance to prove me right. I hope you won't disappoint."

My mouth opened and I shut it quickly. I had guessed he came here to give me a bigger case, but I didn't _actually_ think he _would_. "Sir? You're giving me a new patient? Who is it?"

My eagerness seemed to be the reaction he wanted all along, and he basked in it, dragging out the silence, tormenting me. "As high as my hopes are for you, we both know it would be unrealistic to put you with the high-profile patients—they have broken doctors with fifteen years of training in as little as two minutes. You're going to work your way up."

I already knew that. What, did he think I was so arrogant as to assume I was going to get Harvey Dent or something?

"I understand that, but _who _do you have in mind for me?"

He took a second, his green eyes going up to the ceiling, as if searching through all the patients in his head. I bet he was, actually.

"Don't worry; I'm sure you can handle it. Just come in tomorrow prepared, and I'll take you to the examination room first thing." Patel was walking past me now, ready to leave, and I almost turned to stop him. Almost.

Pestering a man like him wouldn't get me anywhere, it'd just annoy him, maybe even take everything back. _Plus, you love surprises right? And he wouldn't give you someone too over-the-top If he didn't think you couldn't handle it._

I watched him open the door, and he murmured a quick "Good day, Dr. Quinzel," before shutting it behind him.

As soon as he left I took a seat at my desk and stared at nothing for a while. My eyes went out of focus and I was too lazy to sharpen my vision, so I didn't.

_What if this is just big lead up for nothing?_ I pondered, tapping my finger absently on the wooden desk. _Is that why he didn't want to tell me the name? Because it's nobody to get excited about?_

_But then again,_ I argued back, _I don't really care if it's some low-profile, unknown thug. Sure, it'd be exciting to have somebody high-profile, but like Patel said, baby steps._

My phone buzzed in my pocket then, snapping my vision back into focus and I rummaged around in the white coats oversized pocket to retrieve it. I wasn't surprised to see that it was from Selina.

Her text was about her day: How she treated a dog with rabies for the first time and how she _swore_it bit her, which led her to rant about her strong dislike for dogs and how cats were superior and why. I smiled and was planning to respond a quick 'As long as your rabies aren't contagious, we can still be friends' But then it occurred to me I had news of my own. I began typing furiously.

**No argument here. I'm a cat gal. But I don't understand how you can care for animals all day. Though, I guess I can understand in the sense of wanting to help living things. But still.**

**Speaking of helping things, Patel's giving me a new patient tomorrow. Sounds like it's going to be my first ****real**** case.**

I hit send, and now that I'd told somebody about it, the realization hit and the excitement slowly started to bubble up in my stomach. I bounced in my chair, but quickly restrained myself; people thought I was ditsy enough as it was, God forbid somebody walk in on this display.

She replied quickly, gushing and as happy for me as I knew she'd be. Selina and I were about the same age, her having only a year on me. She worked in an establishment that served as both a pet store and a vet, and I met her when I went to go buy a cat.

I never actually did—I just wanted something to make my apartment a little less lonely, but it wasn't worth all the effort to look after it, especially with such a stressful job. Leaving the TV on in the background was good enough.

It wasn't a complete waste going to the pet shop, though, considering I left with a friend. We'd been gal pals ever since. She was my only friend In Gotham (considering this wasn't my home town, as one could tell as soon as my faint accent reached their ears), and she seemed like the solitary type too, so we were a perfect match.

She had to get back to work, and so I slid my phone shut, returning it to its place in my pocket. She wasn't the only one who had work to do.

I gathered the notes from the top drawer of my desk, the ones Leland would need for the courts, and hastily pushed myself off of my chair to find her. She wasn't too hard to find—kind of like an NPC in a video game: she was in certain places at certain times.

Right then, it was about 11:00 (I had spent more time staring off into space and talking to Selina than I'd thought) and so I knew she'd be clearing up her office, getting ready for lunch. Once I made my way there, I knocked and waited for her to open up.

I was soon met face to face with the mature, mid-thirties, dark-skinned psychiatrist, and she greeted me with a warm smile. She was giving me a kind, but clearly curious look, but she quickly realized what I was there for when she saw the clipboard of notes in my hands.

"Dr. Leland, I'm here to hand in my notes for the Walker case." I said it a little sheepishly—it just seemed unnecessary, since she already knew what I was there for, but I couldn't just say 'I assume you know why I'm here'. So, I wasn't very surprised when she answered:

"Ah, the notes. Yes, I figured that's what you came for. Thank you—" and she leaned to take them from me, raking them over with her eyes quickly before holding the clipboard closely to her chest. "—for all of your hard work. If I'm not mistaken, I hear you'll be getting a new case tomorrow. Congratulations, Dr. Quinzel. You deserve it."

I waved my hand in front of me as she spoke, but couldn't help feel a little happy that she had acknowledged it. "Ah, it's no big deal. And please, call me Harley. Quinzel just sounds so formal, and Harleen is for my mom."

She chuckled and I stood there, slightly awkward, smiling at her. Joan looked up at me sadly then, and the change in expressions took me off guard.

"Are you sure you'll be okay, Harley? You've only been here three months, and I know that's plenty of training for normal psychologists, plus the internships you've been through…But _these_ patients…Are you sure you don't want more time? I can go talk to Patel if you're not feeling comfo—"I cut her off swiftly, suddenly feeling betrayed by her lack of confidence in me. _Didn't she just say I deserved it?_

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Joan. You know Patel, he's a by the book kinda guy. He wouldn't give me somebody he didn't think I couldn't handle, even if I begged him."

After I said this, Joan went from looking sad to guilty, but placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled anyway. "You're right. I suppose I'm just worried about you. I've seen older people than you come in with _years_of experience on their backs, and leave the same day, sniveling and cursing the Asylum. I just don't want to see a young woman like you with such potential and high hopes to be…shattered."

I attempted to smile as sincerely as I could, but it probably looked more like a grimace at this point. I knew she was worried about me, hell, if I was her _I'd_be worried about me too. But you had to take the training wheels off sometime. How was I supposed to become "experienced" anyway, if they kept denying me the experiences?

I touched her hand on my shoulder, gently prying her fingers off of me. "It'll be all right. Plus, my young age gives me an advantage. No trauma, no divorce…They can try to pick me apart, but I'll hold. I'm a big girl."

Joan smiled despite herself, and nodded once. "I'm sure you're right. Well, good luck tomorrow." And with that she turned herself around and placed my notes on her desk, keeping her back to me until I left.

Although Leland's reaction had visibly irritated me, it also motivated me. Just another person to prove my worth to.

I had nothing to do for the rest of the day, since I finished my notes earlier than expected. So, I grabbed a coffee and headed to my office, hoping it'd keep me awake for the rest of the day.

* * *

They say it's not good for psychologists to take their work home with them, but I'd yet to meet anybody who _actually_ followed that motto. As soon as I got home, I leapt into action: looking through old psychology books I'd gotten from college, and researching all of the high-profile crazies online. He _did _say to prepare.

Someone I always seemed to go back to was Jonathan Crane, a psychologist who was now locked up in the very same Asylum that he had worked at.

He was a psychologist, just like me, which was what caused me to continuously look into him every now and again. Who knows if he was every truly "normal", but the thought that the same thing could happen to me was, admittedly, unsettling. That was the main reason I wanted to talk to him, though.

If he was sane at one point, _what_ drove him over the edge? A patient? Or was dealing with Arkhams inhabitants as a whole just too much to handle? If he couldn't take it, then how could _I_?

I distracted myself from that train of thought by concentrating especially hard on the article I was reading, and continued like that for about an hour before my eyelids started to get heavy. I threw my glasses on the bedside table and crawled into bed still fully clothed, suddenly feeling too exhausted to do anything.

I only had time to ponder who I might be assigned to tomorrow for about thirty seconds before I fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The lack of nerves I felt the previous day finally seemed to kick in, and I decided to go without coffee, considering how jittery I already was.

My hands gripped the steering wheel until I heard the squeak of the material clench beneath my hands, and I loosened up a little, tapping my index finger furiously on it instead.

I looked myself over in the rear view mirror, my eyes the first thing I checked. They were particularly glossy at the moment, which they always were in the morning. I wore the same make-up as usual: no eyeliner, no eye shadow, just a touch of mascara to make my dark blonde eyelashes a bit darker.

I didn't need blush, my cheeks were already rosy enough. In fact, I looked downright flustered, and I rolled down the window a bit, hoping the cool wind would wash the heat away from my face.

I wore a simple gray long-sleeved V neck sweater, along with a black pencil skirt and black heels. My glasses were still perched on my nose, and I considered abandoning them today, in fear that my mystery patient might somehow know they were only for decoration, but decided against it.

_Stop being so paranoid, Harley._

Easier said (or thought) than done. I was out of The Narrows now, the Asylum becoming visible a little ways up.

My foot pressed harder on the gas, going a little over the speed limit, just anxious to get there and find out who I would be working with.

I almost forgot my lab coat when I parked, and quickly grabbed it from where it lay strewn on the passenger seat, sliding into it as I speed-walked into Arkham.

I barged straight into my office, and Patel was leaning on my desk once again, this time with two orderlies on either side of him. They were both well-built and intimidating looking, and this in itself was a sign that I was finally getting someone serious.

Still, it was against my policy.

"What are they doing here?" I asked, waggling my finger around vaguely, referring to the two body builders.

Patel seemed to expect my question, and leaned forward. "I understand, Dr. Quinzel, that you feel the presence of orderlies will make the patient unwilling to talk, or put a hitch in the gears of mutual trust. That was easy enough to abide to before, but now that you'll be dealing with more _serious_ patients, I'm afraid whether or not these men accompany you isn't up to _you_, but _me_. It is for your own safety." I wondered how many times Patel repeated that in his head for it to sound as scripted as it did.

I must have been making some sort of face, because Patel added, "If it's any consolation, only one will be accompanying you in the session."

"_Much_better," I tried to sound sour, but I was too excited over the fact that this was finally happening—that I was finally going to be on a case that I could gush about to my mom, a case that I could brag about to Selina.

Patel was looking at me with the same guilty sadness that Joan had been looking at me with yesterday, and I clenched my jaw.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket then and I knew it was from Selina. She texted me last night after I fell asleep, desperately asking me if I knew who I was assigned to yet, and told me to let her know who it was first thing.

_Sorry, Selina. Not even I know.  
_  
_Yet_, I added inwardly as I followed Patel down the hall and to the examination room.

Once we reached the outside of the room that my mystery man, or woman, was inside, Patel spun me around, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders. He wasn't exactly the touchy feely type, so my expression was a little more surprised than it should have been over such a simple action.

"Harley," He said my name firmly, and carried on low and quickly, "Do not show _fear_, do not disclose any _information_ about yourself, do not give them _anything_ to use against you. Keep what you say to a bare minimum. The point is to get _them_ talking, _not_ you. Remember that _you're_the psychologist, not him."

I already knew all that. The only thing I really picked up from all of that was 'him'. So, it was a he.

_That _narrows it down.

"He's already restrained and waiting for you—and, before you say anything, yes, he _does_need to be restrained. Once again, this is the real deal. If things get out of hand, the orderly is there, and you can end the session at any time. Send her in."

Patel and orderly #1 stepped back to let me and orderly #2 pass, orderly #2 going in before me. For safety, I guessed.

Orderly #2 was walking in front of me, and painfully slowly. I stood at a mere 5'5, and who knows how tall _he _was, but his back was in the way of me seeing my new patient. Finally he took his position a ways away, leaning against the wall to my left, and I let my eyes slither over to my patient.

His head was turned slightly down and to the side, looking over at the orderly, I presumed, judging by the way the muscled man seemed to tense (and you could see it, too. His muscles were so defined you could literally _see_every single one tense up.)

My eyes were back on what I could see of my patient. He had curly hair, which was many different shades of brown and…was that _green_?

I shut the door behind me, still keeping my eyes on my patient as I did so.

Upon hearing the door shut, my patient finally, _finally _turned to me, confirming my suspicions.

And I wish he hadn't.

He was without his greasepaint, but the face itself was unforgettable. The dark eyes that I had seen so many times in articles were now staring at _me_, and the signature smile that twisted his scars in that unforgettable way was now _because _of me.

And that voice. The voice that I had heard so many times in brief news clips, the voice that was usually directed at Batman, or society in general, was now addressing me personally.

"Well, hel-_lo_ there, Doc-_turr_. I was starting to think you _forgot _about lil 'ol me."

I didn't realize I was backing away until the door pressed against my back.

It was him.

The Joker.


	2. The name game

I only wondered if Patel had sent me to the wrong room for about a second, before I remembered who I was talking about.

It was _Patel_, firstly. He never got _anything _wrong. Especially not when it involved the Joker.

So that left me with the only other explanation: He had sent me in here on purpose.

As I pressed my back against the door and tried to sort through my thoughts (which was quite hard, at the moment. It was like my brain was in overdrive), the Joker was being quite considerate.

He stared up at me, his lips pressed together tightly, the corners tugging slightly upwards. He drummed his cuffed hands on the table erratically, not actually having any beat but there was still something rhythmic about it.

I didn't dare look at him again. I needed to think, and it was easier to stare at the wall and pretend he wasn't there.

So, this is what everything had been leading up to? This was why Patel and Leland had seemed so guilty?

I wasn't scared anymore, oh no. Now, _now _I was angry.

I wouldn't have denied a chance to work with The Joker, no matter how crazy it was for someone like me. What I would have liked, however, was a little bit of heads up. Most people like to be warned when they're about to walk into a room with a deranged killer.

But why didn't anybody tell me I was to be given the Joker? Was I the last person they could turn to, and thought I would say no if they were to offer it to me?

I quickly dismissed it. No way. These people were psychologists and psychiatrists—there's no way they didn't see how much I wanted to prove myself to them. They must have known I would jump on the chance to get the Joker.

So then…why?

I didn't have any more time to ponder, however, for it seemed the Joker's patience had a limit.

He leaned back easily in his chair, smacking his lips a few times and waving his arm through the air, offering me to take the seat across from him.

I cleared my throat and hastily pushed up my glasses, attempting to regain my composure, and most importantly, authority. After backing away in fear upon sight of him, though, any chance of authority I may have had was probably gone.

The chair creaked beneath my weight and I crossed my legs, shaking the foot of my top leg.

I had nothing prepared for him. What should I say? Talk about? If everybody else had such a hard time with him, why would I succeed? Was this why Patel sent me in? Did he think my inexperience might be an advantage?

I cleared my throat, ready to speak, but the Joker beat me to it.

"S_ooo_," He drawled, picking up his hand and waving it at me lazily. "Yet another one of, uh,—" He let his eyes rake over me, and started to draw circles with his index finger as he pointed at me. "—you?"

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. I didn't know if he was playing with me this early into the game, but I took the bait anyhow.

"Another one of me? I'm guessing you mean another doctor? Well, I understand seeing multiple doctors as you have can be tiring, b—"

The Joker shut me up by slamming one hand on the table, followed by a hasty string of "_shh_, _sh_, _shh_" 's.

He looked up at me again, and even though he wasn't wearing his greasepaint, his eyes were still oddly…dark—as if the greasepaint had soaked into his skin and left a permanent mark. It almost looked like he was wearing a small touch of eyeliner around his eyes, not to mention the dark circles under them as well.

"Now, now, now. Don't just go…_assuming_ stuff. I wasn't done talking yet, doc." Then he watched me to see If I would continue talking, and when it was clear I was willing to let him finish, he leaned forward, suddenly full of energy.

"See, I'm talking about _you_. You as a person. Did you know, doc, that you're the third young and bee-_utiful_ lady they've sent in to, uh, _cure _me?" Then he looked at me, raising his eyebrows as if it was obvious what was going on, and shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he licked his lips.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at. Are you saying I'm only being assigned to you because I'm a _woman_?" I wasn't really all that offended, I was more curious as to if this was true or not, and why he thought that.

He chuckled then and rocked in his chair, sitting up straight once again. "Oh, I'm not saying _anything_, Doc. Just making a simple, ah, _observation_. But enough about _me_. Why do _you _think you're here?"

_I'll let you know when I find out.  
_  
Yeah, right. I straightened up too, then, looking him straight in those dark eyes. "I'm your psychologist. My purpose is to help you; nothing more, nothing less."

"_Nothing_ more?" He drawled, licking his lips as he looked up in thought. The next second, though, they snapped back to me. "Are ya _sure_?"

I knew his lip licking was nothing perverted, for I'd seen him in various news clips and photos; it seemed to be a tick, probably due to the scars. Even now, I could see his tongue moving along the insides of his cheeks, tracing his mutilated skin.

I didn't say anything. I still didn't fully grasp what he was saying. What, did he think Patel sent me in here to fulfill whatever the Joker's _needs _may be? That was ridiculous.

But then again, the look of guilt on their faces…I banished the thought. Mr. Patel was professional, and that was strictly against protocol. Not to mention I'd never agree to it, and this madman was more likely to kill me than anything.

"Now, don't get _offended_, Doc, but how's a guy supposed to take his doctor _seriously_…When she was only sent to, ah, be nice on the _eyes_?"

I realized how closely he was watching me, but I still let some sort of emotion slip, and it clearly reached my face, judging by his reaction.

"They don't take you…_seriously_, do they?" He leaned back, shaking his head slightly and letting his black eyes drift over to the orderly.

"Don't worry about it, doc. All these, uh, _people_, in here? They just can't handle someone a little _different_ looking, y'know? How old are you, twenty-four? Five? Blonde hair, blue eyes, and not _brain_-dead like the rest of 'em. Of _course_ they're not gonna take you _seriously_."

His analysis almost scared me. He got all that just because I reacted a _tiny_ bit when he said he couldn't take me seriously? What was Patel _thinking _when he thought I could handle him?

Despite how nervous his assumption had made me, I made sure not to let it show this time.

"The business between my colleagues and I is none of your business, Mr. Joker. I'm here to talk about you." And then he got this look on his face—a sly one, and I could tell I wasn't going to like what came out of his mouth next.

"Is that _so_, doc? You looked pr-_etty_ shocked when you first came in. Something…" And he leaned in further—the furthest he had so far, and I could see the decay on his teeth and a slight tint of brown in his black eyes. "…_wrong_?"

All of the saliva seemed to have abandoned my mouth, and I licked my dry lips, but my equally as dry tongue did nothing to help. I was scared of _him_, certainly, but that wasn't what scared me the most. What scared me the most was that I _wanted _to tell him.

And I wasn't even sure why.

"Nothing's wrong, I assure you. Now, if you'll let me do my job…"

The Joker raised his eyebrows once, his eyes half lidded as he looked at me. He leaned back in his chair, licking his lips as he did so, and held his hands out, as if to say '_go ahead_'.

I doubted I'd get anywhere with it, but I went with the basics.

"Name?" I asked, positioning the clipboard on my lap, pen in hand as I waited for his response.

I waited, and when he didn't respond, I looked up at him. He just gave me a slight shrug, as if he didn't know either, and I sighed. "The Joker it is."

I was about to read the next question, but was swiftly interrupted by him.

"As much fun as 20 questions is, doc, I'm a give and take kind of guy. So, Doc. _Name_?"

I inwardly kicked myself. I had completely forgotten to give my name, which was supposed to be done first off. I quickly shook off the blame though, considering this was the Joker, and I could already tell things were just going to get more and more abnormal as we continued on.

But if he wasn't going to follow the rules, why should I?

"Harlequin," I said, smirking afterwards.

To my delight, the answer caused him to look up in surprise, his right eyebrow raised, but he soon lowered it and let out a deranged giggle as he rocked back and forth. I saw the orderly tense.

As his laughter died down, I began to speak again. "As you can tell, it's not my real name, but I've been called it before, so I think it will suffice. You're in no position to complain, however. Isn't that right, _Joker_?"

He didn't laugh this time—in fact, any trace of amusement was gone from his face. He leaned forward, rapidly licking his lips, and smiled. "You only get what you give, huh? I _like_ ya, Doc. _Yes _I do."

I would never admit it, but part of me was glad to hear it. Someone as powerful, as crazy, as _psychopathic _as him hadn't declared me dead yet, and it was a start. I continued on with the questions.

My eyes scanned over the questions, and only now did I realize how robotic they were. Name. Age. Hobbies. Any childhood trauma. Etc.

I put the clipboard on the table and asked what I really wanted to ask.

I took a deep breath, and this time, it was my turn to lean forward. Our eyes met: his inky black polluting my ocean blue.  
"Why do you do what you do?"

He made no move to answer, but only continued staring at me to the point where it was becoming uncomfortable.

Then, very suddenly, he shot up out of his chair and I flinched back so violently my chair almost fell backwards.

The orderly was already on his way over, but I held out a shaky hand to stop him, and when he continued coming, I shouted "_Stop!_"

The orderly was torn between listening to me, and obeying his duties. After a few moments, however, he retreated back to the wall, and the Joker was seated once more.

I regained my composure and tucked my seat back in, looking at him cautiously, but more than that, curiously.

"_Everyone_, they all think that I…_feed,_ off of their fear. That I, uh, how did you word it? _Do what I do_? Because I like to see their _fear_." He smacked his lips and looked at me, unimpressed, but there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Fear is…_Fear_, is too _easy_. You were scared just now, little Harlequin, so if I _really_ wanted to _scare_ people…to, as they put it, _feed_ off of their fear, why don't I just go around _popping up _in people's faces?"

My heart was still racing from his earlier scare, but I pondered what he was saying. Guilty, I had been one of those people who thought he did what he did to instill fear into people, but I knew there was more to it than that.

And now I was about to find out just what it was.

"I like…_chaos_. If money makes the world go 'round, then chaos brings it to a screeching _halt_. People, they can't _believe_ when their predictably scheduled lives are thrown out of order! They don't live, they just _exist_. Like that gentleman over there."

and the Joker flicked his thumb over at the orderly pressed against the wall, whose jaw was now clenched due to the clowns attention. "He's a living being, like _you_, like _me_, but he's just…_there_. And that's how everyone is. I like to _wrench_ them out of that order, out of their _routine_ existence. And their, uh, fear? That's their _own_ deal. Chaos breeds fear, and me? I breed Chaos. That's why, Doc, I'm here, sitting in front of _you_."

I didn't realize we were both leaning into each other until he held up his finger and poked me harshly in the forehead. I shot back, staring at him like an idiot.

He was charismatic, that was for sure. I used to wonder howhe even _had_ henchmen. Now, it was clear.

I sat back up, recovering from his poke, and twirled the pen in my hand.  
"So you admit that what you do is wrong? You understand why you're here?" I breathed, getting out a question just for the sake of questioning him. I couldn't just sit like a kid at story time.

"Wrong?" The Joker smacked his lips, smiling as he rested his crossed arms on the table. "There is no _right_ or _wrong_. There's only what people _think_ is right and wrong. Would you say _killing_ people is bad, doc? Well, what if it's _planned_ by the government? What about when it's people who _deserve_ to die? Where does right end and wrong begin? What I'm doing isn't right _or_ wrong, because, uh, those concepts you hold onto so dearly? They're just there to keep _order_, to keep _civilization_. And that's where _I_ come in, little _Harlequin_. What I do isn't right _or_ wrong, I just…_do_."

Any resentment I had for Patel assigning me the Joker was completely gone. In fact, I wanted to hug him for it.

Anybody who said the Joker was crazy, I saw now, was just wrong. The difference between him and most of the people here, I was beginning to see, wasn't that he was crazy, he just had different ideas.

I wasn't siding with him, but I saw where he was coming from, and his mind was so complex, I wouldn't be able to grasp all of his ideas if I tried.

"So, now, _doc_ Harlequin, time for the million dollar question…" And the Joker placed his hands flat on the table, leaning forward and looking at me. "_Am _I…crazy?" He said, sounding so amused and serious at the same time.

"I don't think you're crazy, no. You just have different ideas." I answered honestly.

The Joker seemed surprised, lifting his hand to the left side of his chest in a show of mock appreciation, but I quickly went on: "The way you go about proving your ideas, however, is extreme, to say the least, and I _do _think it's best to have you locked up."

The Joker took his hand off of his heart and shrugged, giving me a '_to each his own_' look, and I almost smiled. I wasn't done talking, however.

"If you're trying to make a point, or to make your voice heard, why do you go about it how you have been? As you said, the population assumes you only want to see their fear. Why not go about it in a more civilized way—"

and then I cut myself off, and the Joker looked amused when I did so. I had just put my foot in my mouth.

One of the things he stood for was that civilization and order is a joke. So holding a civilized _protest_ wouldn't make much sense, would it? I laughed quietly to myself, and when I looked up, the Joker was looking at me through half lidded eyes.

Before either of us could say anything more, the buzzer went off, indicating that our time was up, and I stood, gathering up the clipboard of questions and lined papers (neither of which I used) and tucked in my chair.

The Joker was still sitting, waiting for the orderly to come get him, and then the other entered both of them heaving him up and un-attaching him from the chair, but keeping him restrained.

When they stood him up, I noticed just how _tall_ he was. I was only 5''5, so his height from my view was probably exaggerated, but he was taller than the orderlies, as well, who had to be at least 5''11.

As they passed, he clicked his tongue at me, chuckling as he turned away. He was out of sight in seconds, the orderlies hastily carrying him through the halls. Dr. Patel wasn't outside of the door like I thought he'd be, and so I went to my office, knowing he'd be there.

On the walk to my office I wasn't sure what to think. I had a right to be angry, certainly, since he shoved the Joker onto me without telling me. There had to be some rule against that, and I could get him into shit if I was really that petty, but I wasn't.

If anything, I should be grateful to him. He may have assigned me the Joker because of the reasons the man himself had said, or because he really _did _think my inexperience would be an advantage.

As much as I hated to admit it, I knew for a fact that it wasn't my skills in psychology that had landed me the Joker, but whatever it was, I was grateful I had it.

I burst into my office then, and Patel was pacing, his hands clasped and in front of his mouth. His nostrils were flared and he was staring at nothing—he looked just about ready to explode.

And explode he did.

"Harley!" He said upon seeing me, and turned, fast walking over to me. I closed the door behind me as he came up to me.

Despite my earlier thoughts, the stubborn part of me still wanted to be mad at him. It wasn't everyday you could snap at the Director—and with reason.

"What happened to me not being ready for him?" I demanded, and Patel looked shocked to see that I was mad and bringing this up. I was suddenly very glad I did.

"You want to talk about _this_? Harley, you ju—"

I cut him off, the rage I felt from earlier coming back earnestly now.

"So that's why you and Joan were acting so weird? I can't _believe_ you sent me in there unknowingly! No time to prepare, not only for the session, but mentally! You probably didn't see me when I first walked in, since I doubt you had time to run to the surveillance room in that short time, but I was _petrified_. And he _saw_ it. Do you think he'll ever take me seriously _now_?"

Patel's hands were balled up into fists and he held them up in front of him as he spoke, "That's not the issue here, Quinzel. The issue is that he's talking to you! I've tried everything, and the Joker was right, I _had_ been sending in young women like you, in hopes that he _might _talk to them. But he didn't! Nothing I try has—"

"What?" I exclaimed. "He was right? I didn't get mad at the time because I didn't think you, out of all people, would—"

"_Quinzel!_" Patel barked, and I realized how heated it was getting. We were both leaning into each other, and my hands were balled into fists at my side. I loosened up, realizing how tense my shoulders were, and crossed my arms instead, looking at him.

"It's true that I had sent in some young women previously just to see if it would have a different affect on him, but It didn't. That's _not_ why I sent _you _in, though. I swear."

My arms were still crossed firmly across my chest. "So? Why _did _you send me in? We both know it's not because of my exceptional skills as a psychologist." I said bitterly, gaining some distance and leaning against the wall.

Patel sighed, and him not being one to worry about hurting feelings, didn't sugarcoat anything. "You're right," he said, and I didn't react. "Before you were at the asylum, we had people sent in from all over the world, trying different techniques on him, different methods, but nothings worked. He _has _talked before, like he did today, but not in quite some time."

I looked him in the eyes, uncrossing my arms. My curiosity was dominating my anger. "If he's talked to a Doctor well enough before, why not just send in the same type of person as last time?"

Patel scratched his stubble, staring at the floor, his mouth pressed into a tight line. "I'm not proud of it, but I've tried. The only other time the Joker has talked this much was when we assigned him an…elderly doctor, in his late seventies, and he was in one of the final stages of his illness. He was due to die in two weeks, and I think that's why the Joker spoke to him so much. Something about his mortality, maybe."

Patel sighed deeply, and put his hand on his forehead, looking exactly like a little kid who had just disobeyed his mother. "I'm not proud of it, but after that, when things got desperate, I searched for other individuals who's…time, was running out. Psychologist or not."

He looked up at me then, and when he was met with my blank face, he was surprised. Almost as if he were expecting a look of disgust or horror on my face.

"It was no use, though," he continued, smiling bitterly. "Turns out, most people, in their final days don't want to spend it in a small room for an hour, accompanied by The Joker."

Patel took off his glasses and put them in his pocket, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Call me a sucker, but now whatever anger I held was gone.

"I'm not dying, am I, Doctor Patel?" I asked airily, trying to lighten the mood, or at least the heavy atmosphere. "So why me?"

"I apologize, Quinzel. It's not that you aren't a gifted psychologist, but you were correct when you presumed I didn't send you in for your skills."

I didn't react. That much I already knew.

"It was a gamble," He continued, suddenly sounding very tired. "The Joker's seen the best of the best, psychiatrists and psychologists who are world renowned, and still they do nothing for him. So why you? Like I said, it was a gamble, but I did a complete 180. Instead of sending in the best of the best, I decided to send in you, a young lady fresh out of college."

He looked at me then, and I just shrugged. I had been expecting this. _No offense taken._

"You're not as refined as the rest of us, not as professional, and that's what he likes about you. That's why he spoke to you. The world renowned psychologists go in thinking they have it all in the bag, and he hates that. He see's you…" Patel waved his hand at me, looking me up and down. "And he sees a person. Not a robot."

I opened my mouth to respond, but then closed it. Judging by what the Joker had said in our session today, Patel's theory made sense.

"And even though you're worried about him not thinking of you as an authority figure, or being able to take you seriously due to your display of fear, that most likely gave you an advantage. He likes the fact that you're not as professional as the rest of us."

I raised an eyebrow. "So, what? Should I go into our sessions in sweats and eating potato chips from now on?"

That managed to wipe the solemn, serious look off of Patel's face, but he still didn't smile.

"No, He most likely likes the fact that you're trying to be serious, to be professional; like a little kid wearing a suit, trying to be on par with the grown-ups."

I felt a bit offended at that, and my face must have mirrored that, because Patel quickly waved his hands. "Just putting myself in the mind of the patient, Quinzel. No harm done."

"Speaking of _Quinzel_, Quinzel…" Patel continued, eyeing me and rubbing his stubble again. "You gave him a fake name. Luckily you're not wearing your identification tag today. I'll tell the others to refer to you as Harlequin from now on if the Joker is nearby."

I smirked at that, happy I had something against him, something that he didn't know about me since he seemed to know _everything_, and nodded.

"Well then, if that's all, I'll be leaving. If you have any questions, I'm in my office. I advise you not to prepare for any of your sessions together, and your next one will be on Thursday, two days from now. Sessions with him will be two days a week, and although today's was half an hour, the rest will be an hour."

I only nodded as Patel spat out all of the information hastily, and once he saw my confirmation, he was out the door. Probably to go look over the footage of our session and make his own notes, since I sure as hell didn't make any.

I made my way over to my desk and plopped down on the side of it, and after a few minutes, I laid down all the way.

If I thought that being a psychologist was tiring before, it was much more tiring now. The way The Joker spoke totally sucked you up, captivated you, and that half hour passed like it was nothing.

I almost fell asleep lying on my desk when an idea suddenly popped into my head, and I shot up, pulling open the top drawer of my desk and looking for the name tags.

Everybody at the asylum had a professional identification tag, and I luckily didn't have mine on today—it must have fallen off in the car—but I couldn't very well wear it for the time being.

I rummaged around in my desk drawer, searching for the dollar store name tags I had bought as a joke, and grinned when I found them, grabbing one and throwing it on the desk. I reached for the nearest pen and bent down, writing hastily on it.

I held it up and pinned it onto my lab coat when I was done, my smile growing wider, and stood in front of my black computer screen, studying my reflection.

My blonde hair was in a messy bun, my useless glasses perched on my nose, granting me an air of false professionalism. My lips were stretched into a satisfied grin, and a piece of paper was pinned onto my left breast.

** Hello**  
** my name is  
** _Harlequin_

* * *

_Thanks to the people who reviewed and told me you were interested—this chapters here thanks to you._

_haha but wow something totally possessed me during this chapter. Their session was originally supposed to end when the joker suddenly shot up out of his chair, the reason being he saw the clock and that time was up, but then suddenly it just turned into…well, what you read._

_This chapter was a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to writing more of their sessions together and what happens from there. And as always, reviews are greatly appreciated~_


	3. Date night

I debated on whether or not to tell Selina about my new patient.

She was my closest friend at the moment, and it's not that I didn't trust her, but I knew she wouldn't be happy. The reason being, she _hated _the Joker.

Well, _everybody _hated the Joker, but Selina was different. Most people hated the Joker in the way that most people hated tsunamis, or earthquakes—because they cause chaos, destruction, etc. But Miss Kyle, on the other hand, hated him on a whole other level, as if it was something personal. I tried asking her about it on several different occasions, but each time I only got an: "It's nothing; everyone hates the bastard, and I'm no different."

But she _was _different. I'd managed to get a little bit out of her when we were out drinking once, and The Joker came on TV. Though all she had to say (or more precisely, slur) was: "That bastard…stole my only chance to start over…took it from right under my nose."

After that, the rest was unintelligible muttering as she sipped her poison, but based on what she said, I'd assumed it was a boyfriend. My guess was that The Joker (as terrible as it was) had killed her boyfriend, or something of the sort, perhaps a fiancé. It explained the 'start over', and why she was so dodgy about the topic of boyfriends, and relationships in general.

Still, despite her feelings on him, she had to hear it from me. If she somehow heard I was on his case any other way, what reason would I have for not telling her?

With that in mind, I found her on my contacts list, and, not having the backbone to tell her in person, sent her a quick text.

**Sorry I didn't text you earlier; found out who my patient was this morning and was a little too distracted to text you back. My new patient's the Joker—and I know. I was just as surprised as you are. But, apparently I can handle it, so I'm not about to turn it down.**

I hit send and, fearing what she would say, set my phone down away from me and nestled into a comfier position on the couch, turning up the TV as I did so.

I don't remember what I had left it on previously, considering I always just left it on for the noise, but now Gotham Live was on, and Summer Gleeson's face was immediately recognizable.

She had artificially bright red and styled hair, which was unusual for a professional talk show host, but it worked for her—she managed to be both professional and relatable at the same time. I momentarily compared her to myself, before focusing back on the television.

The camera zoomed in on her made-up face, her naturally brown eyes covered with green contacts, her lips ruby red, as she cheerfully presented her guest for the evening.

I was surprised when I recognized him, and leaned forward.

"Well, guys, tonight we have Mr. Craig Shackleton, former associate of the infamous Dr. Jonathan Crane, otherwise known as _Scarecrow_! Ooh! Let's give him a round of applause!"

I knew it; I had seen him visiting Arkham a few times, though his visits were becoming less and less frequent as of late. Well, now I knew why. I heard my phone vibrate beside me, but promptly ignored it, and turned up my television louder still.

"So, Mr. Shackleton, I'm so thrilled you could make it tonight!" Summer all but yelled, flashing a winning smile at the man, which caused him to lightly tug on the lapel of his suit.

"Glad you could have me, Summer. It's great when you get an opportunity such as this to share your experiences." Shackleton said modestly, seemingly distracted by her hair. I noticed a book on the table between them, and squinted to read what the cover said, but it was too far away.

"I'd imagine so!" the red head agreed, crossing her creamy white legs and leaning forward. "So, what was it like working with Doctor Crane? Before he, well…"

Shackleton shrugged, looking genuinely stumped. "He was just like any other guy, y'know? You think that looking back you'd be able to see signs of his lunacy, but that's the thing—you _can't_. He was just like you and me, maybe a little smarter, and I'm glad I got the chance to work with him, even for as short of a time as it was."

Summer turned to the audience, looking shocked, and turned back to Shackleton in disbelief. "You _enjoyed _working with him? Didn't it scare you when you discovered what he was after the fact?"

Shackleton ran a hand through his light brown hair, _his_ naturally green eyes looking distant, as if recalling previous times. "I wasn't frightened at the time, obviously, considering my lack of knowledge regarding his true character. Looking back, however, no, I'm still not scared. Why should I be? In fact, looking back, I'm just disappointed I didn't spend _mor e_time with him."

Summer audibly gasped now, looking to the audience in appalled shock, and then back at Shackleton. "_More_? You're lucky you got away safely the first time! What if he, uh…" And then Summer made an action of dragging her index finger across her throat. I rolled my eyes. If she knew what she was talking about, she'd know Crane wasn't just a mindless killer.

Shackleton, however, seemed to find it endearing, and chuckled a bit as he shook his head. "How could I have been scared of that if I didn't know at the time? Spending more time with him would have given me more material for my book, anyhow."

That must have been the cue, because Summer reached for the book in the middle of the table, which, thanks to the camera zooming in on it, I could now see read: '**CLOSE CONTACT WITH DOCTOR CRANE A.K.A—THE SCARECROW**.'

"I've read your book, and I've got to say, I absolutely _loved _it. It's _super_ amazing and insightful to see the man behind the villain, how he was before he became—or revealed—who he really is. I'm not the only one that thinks this, right?"

And then, definitely on cue, the audience clapped and whooped and cheered and made a whole bunch of other loud noises.

Shackleton waited for the roars of the audience to die down before responding. "Yes, I agree, which is why I decided to dedicate my time to writing this book, so that not only me, but everybody who is curious can take a look into Crane's previous life, and see that even though we know them as the Scarecrow, or the Joker, or even the Batman…when it boils down to it, they're all just normal men."

The red-headed hostess nodded in fervent agreement, her artificially green eyes trained on his.

I tuned out as they began talking about how lucky he was to get such an opportunity and how many copies his book had sold worldwide.

Forget Doctor Crane, he was a little kid compared to The Joker.

I began to get butterflies in my stomach as the idea sprouted in my head.

If writing a book on what Doctor Crane _used_ to be like got that guy so much fame, imagine how big _I _could be if I managed to write a book about the Joker, as his psychologist.

The idea got me excited, so I got up and began to pace around my little apartment. Due to the code of ethics, I'd have to either hide the Jokers identity, or get consent from him. I doubt he'd give me his consent, but not revealing his identity wouldn't pack the same punch.

Could I publish it anyway, and run the risk of being stripped of my title?

I shook my head immediately, quietly _tsk_ing myself as I strolled about. No, _no _way. If the book was a failure, that'd mean I'd lose everything. So consent it was.

How could I get it? I wasn't about to let the Joker know I was planning to write a book about him, considering he'd probably stop talking so openly if he knew. Was there some way I could get _around _the code?

Gotham was a shady place, after all, and Arkham was pitch-black. Could I convince Patel or Dr. Arkham to lie for me, and say the Joker gave me consent? Who would the population believe, anyway? A mad clown, or a successful doctor?

_This is crazy, now you're just getting suicidal_. Even if I did somehow slip around all of the legal blocks, in the end, one thing was for sure: The Joker would definitely not be pleased. Not one bit.

What would he do? Hunt me down? Torture me? Kill me? Or would there be a miracle—would he _like _the spotlight? Would he like for my book with everything he's told me, and is going to tell me, to be a hit?

I frowned. No. Even if he does like all eyes on him, he likes all eyes on him when he _wants _them to be on him. If it's without his permission, he definitely wouldn't appreciate it.

_Then why are you still considering it?_

I rubbed my forehead with my wrist, as if that would erase all of my thoughts, and swiped my tacky red cell phone off of the couch.

Selina had texted me back about half an hour ago, and I still didn't want to look at it. Well, ignoring it wasn't going to make it go away, or change what she wrote.

I flipped it open, and as I read, I could practically hear her voice.

**The Joker? That wasn't a typo, was it? What the fuck is your boss thinking? I thought you told me you would be getting a low-profile person? No, you know what, this isn't the type of conversation we should be having over the phone. How's tomorrow for dinner? I would do lunch but I have an early shift.**

I responded, not to the beginning, only to the end, saying simply:

**Dinner's fine. Honey's at 7?**

I already knew Selina would be outraged at the news, but despite the fact that I saw it coming, it was still a little insulting.

I stared at my phone, waiting for her to reply, and when she confirmed, I flipped my phone shut, not bothering to respond.

I was about to get up when my phone vibrated again. Thinking it was Selina demanding a reply, I opened it a little roughly, visibly annoyed. That was soon replaced with mild surprise when I saw it was from Simon.

He was my sort-of boyfriend, whom I met when interning at a nearby hospital. We worked together throughout the whole internship, and he decided to stay, whereas I decided to move on to Arkham. He was a little disappointed, but supported me nonetheless.

**Hey, Harls. If you're free tomorrow night, I can probably get someone else to fill my shift. Does dinner sound good?**

He really was a nice guy, even if he was a little boring, but stability was probably what I needed right now anyways. Nonetheless, he just missed his chance.

**Sorry, If only you texted a few minutes sooner. Just made some plans for tomorrow with Selina. Another time?**

I turned off my TV as soon as I hit send, decided to just go to bed. The Joker had worn me out today, and I was suddenly very grateful I had tomorrow off.

I slipped into bed, thinking it would be impossible to fall asleep with my whirring mind, but everything seemed to cease as soon as I pulled up the blankets.

* * *

I spent the day doing nothing, and when I say nothing, I mean it literally. Nothing.

Patel was right to give me a break after my first day handling the Joker, and he probably assumed I would spend this day mentally preparing myself for the Joker tomorrow. It was partly true, but I still tried not to think of him, instead looking forward to my date with Selina.

Since I knew that tomorrow would be a day of pure psychological warfare, naturally, I spent the day vegging on the couch, and when that got old, I went on the computer for a little dose of healthy, competitive online gaming. Who said doctors were _all _serious?

When it started reaching the five o'clock mark, I figured I should probably get ready, and quickly shut down my games, heading to the shower.

As I lathered my skin, I noticed just how smooth it was, which led me to start thinking of _him_.

_Great. I'm sure he'd get a kick out of knowing that I was thinking about him while in the shower._

It was surprising, though, that even though it felt like longer, he and I had only had one session together so far. It felt like we had been seeing each other for weeks. He _stuck _with me in ways that no patient had before, even when I was dealing with them for a month.

_Shut up. Today's your day off. Don't think of him, or anything related to work whatsoever. Not until you have to talk to Selina, that is._

By the time I got out of the shower, it was just turning six, and I clicked my tongue when I saw the time. Taking long showers had always been a bad habit of mine, one that needed to stop—_especially_ now that it was _me _paying the hydro bill, and not my parents.

Wrapped in only a towel, I headed for my closet, which I had oh so expertly divided into groups depending on the fanciness. Left was casual, and as it moved to the right it got more and more fancy. Granted, I usually messed it up after a while, but today it seemed to be in order, and so I picked something from around the middle—not casual, yet not fancy.

I went with a pair of tight, dark blue jeans that hugged my hips nicely, and a dull-blue off the shoulder shirt. After looking myself over in the mirror, I decided to slip on a black tank top underneath just for good measure, due to the shirts tendency to fall much lower than just off the shoulder.

I didn't bother with mascara and just applied some chap-stick (as far as anybody else was concerned, it was lip gloss) and decided to just let my hair down, to provide some coverage for my shoulders. I decided my collarbone area was too naked, however, and rummaged around for a simple silver chained necklace, struggling to hook it on.

Once it was on and I was happy with my appearance, I checked the time. 6:42.

It didn't take long to get to Honey's, but knowing Selina, she'd be early anyways, especially since she was so eager to talk. I grabbed my purse and phone, and after throwing on some black flats, slipped out the door.

* * *

"Wait, you walked in there not knowing the_ Joker _was in there? They didn't tell you? I'm not a psychologist, but isn't that against some sort of rule?"

I put my drink down, which was just a glass of coke, considering I had to show up for work tomorrow (and spend an hour with The Joker, no less), so I figured it would be best to _avoid _a hangover, and have my mind in the best condition possible. I looked to Selina and shrugged.

"That crossed my mind too, but I mean, how petty would I have to be to do that? Plus, I'm ecstatic to get the Joker. Yes, he's draining, but he's _interesting_. He's everything I asked for and more."

Selina hardly looked convinced. "But you said Patel only assigned him to you because of your inexperience. Can you really enjoy your sessions fully while knowing that?"

I frowned. She had a point. "I admit it's not as rewarding as it would be if I'd gotten to him with my own skill, but the point is that I have gotten to him—In more ways than one. We've only had one session and he's already talking to me, which is more than can be said for some world renowned psychologists, including Patel."

The dark haired beauty sitting across from me seemed to get a kick out of that—in fact, she seemed to get a kick out of anything that involved the undermining or just plain insulting of Patel. She hated my boss more than I did.

"Well, alright. Still, though. It's the Joker. Be wary of him. Slippery bastard. Did you say you only have two sessions a week? Maybe you should ask for more—you know he's going to break out soon. Might as well try to squeeze as many sessions in there as you can." Selina said half jokingly, though we both knew it was true.

"I want to, but honestly, even just yesterday's session is wearing me out. It's like he holds you in this spell, and when he releases you, you're just completely drained." I took another sip of my coke, shaking the glass so that the ice clinked together. "Though even if, or _when_ he breaks out, I'm sure I'll get another chance. Batman will probably bring him back, anyway."

At this, surprisingly, Selina's face suddenly fell. I cocked my head to the side, leaning forward a bit and reaching across the table, wondering what it was I said. She didn't accept the comfort, and quickly retracted her hands from mine and put them under the table.

"From what I hear, the Batman's gonna be busy with that freak in the weird mask. Bane. If Joker does escape, now's the worst time. For Gotham, that is." She said simply, moving her head to get her short black hair out of her piercing green eyes. "Though it serves Gotham right for throwing him out like trash, if you ask me."

That made me realize how much everybody depended on Batman, and I looked down into my drink, contemplating this, before I downed the last of it. Selina saw, picked up hers, and finished it as well.

"Well, we've both got work tomorrow. Let's get going; I'll walk you to your car."

"My, what a _gentle_man," I said sweetly, getting up from my seat. Selina's face was still glum as ever, though, and I raised an eyebrow. Before she could turn away, I snatched her arm.

"Hey, if you've forgotten, I _am _a psychologist, who's dealing with the Joker, no less. I think I'm qualified. Is something bothering you?" At my words, Selina looked more shocked than she ought to be, as if she was surprised I noticed anything amiss about her. Either she was getting worse at hiding her emotions, or I was getting better at reading her. I went with the latter.

"Nah, it's nothing," She said, managing to sound casual despite her solemn expression. "And my problems aren't important when you have the _Joker _to deal with, are they?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but she jabbed me, insisting she was joking. I still wasn't convinced it was 'nothing', but Selina was a solitary person—I couldn't expect her to open up to me just like that.

When we bid each other goodbye at my car, I watched her walk off, making sure she was alright. To my surprise and confusion, she didn't head to a car, but into the darkness of an alleyway. What?

I blinked a few times, but otherwise didn't think much of it, due to it being Selina, and got into my slightly rusted, silver car. As I put my key in the engine, though, I could have sworn I saw a black figure fly out of the same dark alley my friend had wandered into, but once again, I dismissed it. Crows and bats weren't exactly unheard of in Gotham.

I rushed home, not fond of being out and about in Gotham past dark, and went to bed as soon as I got home.

* * *

**3 unread messages.**

I sighed, flipping my phone shut and placing it on my desk. I shrugged out of my white lab-coat and leaned back, looking at the ceiling. It was Simon again. I hadn't read his response, or any of his other texts since I'd brushed him off yesterday, and it seemed he didn't take too kindly to being ignored.

I wasn't trying to ignore him, but as mean as it sounded, I had better things to do. Granted, it wasn't his fault, since I hadn't told him I'd gotten assigned to the Joker case yet, but he still needed to consider the fact that I may be busy.

Finally sucking it up, I flipped open my phone again, reading all of his texts. The first one was a reply to my refusal before I had went to bed, a simple "ok". The simplicity of the response made me feel even worse.

The next one was him asking if I'd want to reschedule the date to today instead, which I noticed he sent last night. And finally, the third one, which he'd sent this morning, was the worst of all, and I wish I hadn't read it after all. Ignorance really was bliss.

**Am i bothering you? if you don't want to see me anymore, just tell me. i know you're busy with work, but so am i, and i still try to make time for you. Sorry to resort to guilt tripping you like this, but if you don't care about me after all and aren't willing to make an effort, i'd rather you end it than just ignore me.**

I groaned out loud, leaning forward on my desk and letting my forehead hit the cool mahogany desk.

I'd never been in a serious relationship, just the occasional flings through high school and one short-lived one in college, this being my first legitimate one. Well, for now. If I wasn't careful, we wouldn't be together much longer.

_I have The Joker's session today, but if I tell Simon to wait until tomorrow, that just seems cold, especially after what he just said. But this is the Joker, for Gods sakes. What's more important? My career, or some relationship that may not even last?_

I lifted my head back up, staring intensely at my phone.

Screw it.

**You're not bothering me at all. How about we meet up tonight at the Pepper Shaker, six o'clock?**

Sent.

_No going back now._

Yes, I had just chosen Simon over The Joker. Was that what I wanted? I wasn't sure. What really led me to choose that instead of my work wasn't that I was dying to see him, but what the Joker had said at our session. Everyone's just robots, living their routine existence. Well, I was straying from my routine. _Time to live a little_, I thought with a smirk.

* * *

"Family emergency?" Patel asked incredulously, looking up from his desk and at me, his glasses, luckily, softening his glare.

"Yes," I nodded fervently—I made sure to run to his office for the desired effect: rosy cheeks, disheveled appearance, breathing hard…"My uncle just had a heart attack, I need to go see him in the hospital."

Patel tapped his fingers on his desk, and I couldn't help but remember the way the Joker had drummed his hands on the desk as well. Controlled and rhythmic versus Chaotic and erratic. It was funny how you could differentiate their sanity with just the melodies they created.

"And you're willing to cancel the Joker's session for this?"

Even though my uncle had not _actually_ had a heart attack, I was still appalled at the question. "Of course," I snapped, suddenly defensive, despite the fact that I was lying through my teeth. "It's my _uncle_, and he might die. Forgive me for placing my uncle on a higher pedestal than a psychotic _terrorist_."

Patel simply sighed and shooed me away with his hand. "Very well, I'll cancel your session for today, and reschedule for tomorrow. I assume though, Dr. Quinzel, that you'll be present for your _job _tomorrow?"

I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly regretting this idea, but it was too late to turn back now. "I guarantee it." I said quickly, nodding at him as he continued to make the shooing gesture. I let myself out.

_Well, nice going, Harley, _I thought dryly_._ _Obviously you didn't want the Joker that bad if you're risking your job to get away from him_.

Well, what's done is done. I had a date to get ready for.

* * *

I was glad that we were meeting each other there, instead of him picking me up, or vice versa. The car ride together would be overwhelmingly awkward, considering where we left off.

After I pulled into the parking lot and stepped out of the car, I turned to the window of the restaurant, appraising my reflection.

Simon wouldn't know, but I was wearing the same dress that I wore for my college graduation. But, now I had to make sure he never saw any photos of me at my college grad.

The dress wasn't too extravagant, and although that had bummed me out at the time considering its original purpose, _now_, it was perfect. The colour was a dark, grayish green, getting darker towards the bottom (I had originally wanted the blue one, but they didn't have it in my size) and the length of the dress reached a bit above my knees. It was satin, with two thin straps and elastic in the torso so that it clung to my ribs, but then rippled off as you reached the bottom. Childishly, I did a slight twirl, watching the glossy material wave, before heading into the Pepper Shaker.

Upon entering, the hostess asked me for my name, and as soon as I gave it she led me away. I wasn't sure how Simon managed to get reservations in such short notice, or if he just compulsively makes them and cancels if I can't make it, but there he was, sitting at our table expectantly. As soon as he saw me he sat up straighter, tugging at his tie, and his eyes, I noticed, were not on my face.

"You made it." He breathed when I sat down, and I smiled, setting my purse down.

"Of course I did. I said I would." I tried to not sound so defensive, but, well, there it was. He apparently thought he could make it better by saying "I—I knew you would," but we both knew he was lying.

The conversation progressed as awkwardly as I knew it would, but as dinner came and we loosened up and forgot about previous incidents, it got easier to get back into the swing of things.

"So," Simon said playfully, looking at me from above his wine glass. "I remember you saying you might get a new patient? Did you? Anybody worth mentioning?"

I smirked, realizing with pride he was the first one I could legitimately brag to: Selina was just unimpressed from her hatred, my family would most likely be scared out of their wits, and everybody else at the Asylum would just smile pitifully and nod. As a fellow psychologist, however, I knew Simon would appreciate the news.

"I did, actually," I wasn't able to keep the little tone of arrogance out of my voice. "I got the Joker."

It was interesting to see Simon's range of emotions. First, his mouth popped open and his hazel eyes stared in shock. Then, he smiled, as if he thought I was joking; he quickly realized I wasn't, however, and went back to the shock. And finally, he broke out into another smile. But this one, much to my delight, was genuine happiness. And for _me_.

"That's…wow, that's great, Harley!" He blurted, making weird hand motions. He went to reach across the table for my hand, but awkwardly pulled it back before our skin touched.

"Thanks," I said, and couldn't help the giant smile I wore afterwards.

"So, how'd you get him? Patel finally see how great you are?" He ventured, resting his coppery head on his palm as he looked at me sideways. I smiled bitterly at that, stabbing my steak with a fork.

"Actually, the opposite."

The best part of Simon being a psychologist was that I didn't have to explain myself. Sure, there was a momentary flicker of confusion in his face, but it was followed quickly by unhappy understanding.

"He thinks your inexperience will do some good, huh?" Simon reached over, taking the fork from my hand. What little of my steak that was left was now mashed potatoes. "Is he right?"

I leaned back and smoothed out my dress. "I think so. We've only had one session so far, and he wouldn't shut up."

He perked up at this. "That's good, then. Who cares about why you're there, the point is that you're there, right? When's your next session with him?"

I debated on whether or not I should lie to him, but I decided against it. _He's a psychologist, after all. _"It was today at six 'till seven, actually."

Simon dropped his fork and opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking like a goldfish. It seemed like he wanted to yell at me, demand why I didn't go. But then he froze, and began looking pretty ashamed. I almost felt bad for him.

"I…Didn't know. I'm sorry. Can you reschedule?"

I nodded, brushing him off. "Don't worry about it, I rescheduled 'till tomorrow. Right now, as far as Patel is concerned, I'm in the hospital with my Uncle who had a heart attack."

Simon just nodded sheepishly, and it was my turn to comfort him. I reached across the table, touching his hand reassuringly; I was feeling incredibly awkward, and I could only imagine what he was feeling.

I wasn't used to being so…invested, into a relationship. The only relationships I'd had in high school weren't serious, which was obvious considering the fact that I couldn't remember their names. I was used to observing from the sidelines, knowing _what_ to do but never actually _doing _it. It was odd, to say the least.

From then on we spoke about things not related to work, and after about another fifteen minutes or so and after we split the bill (I had insisted on paying for the full thing, considering my extra cash thanks to the Joker, and the amount of times I had stood him up, but he had insisted on at least half) we parted ways, kissing each other goodbye. I walked to my car quickly, shutting the door harshly behind me.

I could tell he was hoping to come home with me tonight, which was clear from the 'goodbye' kiss. The idea of sleeping with Simon wasn't a terrible one, and I was 26, so it wasn't the fact that I 'wasn't ready'. I'd only slept with one other man before in my life, contrary to what others may believe—it was in college, and the relationship only lasted about a month, and we hardly saw each other in that time frame. We never actually officially 'broke-up', we just stopped seeing each other.

I wanted it to be like the movies, as stupid as that sounded. I wanted it to be spontaneous. I didn't want to have to decide if I wanted to take him home or not. I wanted my brain to be mush, I wanted it to be heated, I just wanted it to _happen_. Naturally.

I exhaled sharply, annoyed at the direction my thoughts were going, and focused mainly on the road as I drove home.

_Get your mind out of the gutter, Harley. God forbid __**he**__ somehow picks up on it tomorrow._

I stepped harder on the gas, dying to just get home and into bed.

* * *

_Sorry! No Joker in this chapter, but it had to happen. Don't worry though, he'll be in the next chapter, and not very happy that his little Harlequin skipped out on a session. hehe_

_P.S. Catwoman is the only character in Nolan's Dark Knight who I think he did a poor job on (appearance wise), so If you didn't already notice, I'm going to be going with the comic appearance of Selina for my fic. That is all, and thanks to the people reviewing. Always makes me smile. x)_


	4. Surveillance

Sorry for not updating sooner! I had exams, and this chapter was sitting there half written for a while, so I finally just sat down and pumped the rest out. Pretty simple chapter, but I hope you like it nonetheless! uwu

* * *

I made sure to get to Arkham early the next day after bailing on the Joker. It was my petty attempt to make amends with Patel for ditching so suddenly.

However, it went completely unnoticed by him, as he had - as usual - been locked in his office all day and apparently hadn't come out since he first got here, which was earlier than me. And so, due to my (unnecessarily) early arrival, I had some free time on my hands.

From my office I could hear Summer Gleeson's voice (it was her morning show, one of the nurses must have put it on) and with it came back my earlier thoughts of writing about the Joker. I stuck my lips out, pursing them oddly as I thought.

I had already thought it out, along with all the pros and cons. Now, it was just up to me: do or don't.

_Well, there would be no harm in writing a few pages, right? It's not like I'm exploiting him if I just wrote this for myself, and for my eyes alone_.

And so with that reasoning I opened up Word, cracked a knuckle, and got to typing.

First things first, I wrote down our whole conversation. I didn't have a perfect memory and would have to look at the tape later to get the quotes right, but for now, I settled with my memory.

I only thought about what I should write for about two seconds before my fingers rapidly danced across the keyboard, all of my thoughts from the time leaving me through my fingers.

**surprisingly fair. doesn't judge in the slightest. the joker is somebody who could watch you slap a baby across the face or dance in front of him in a speedo and he wouldn't think any less of you than if you came up to him professionally in a tux. to him, you need to prove yourself. people say it's whats on the inside that counts, but I think the joker is the only one that the saying can truly, 100% apply to. But like I was saying, he's fair—i asked him questions, and he demanded some in return. Should I have denied him that just because im his psychologist and he's my patient? in a real life scenario, isn't it only proper to ask someone their name and give yours in return?  
**  
I paused for a second, staring at the screen. This was more of a stream of consciousness than anything—just something to get my thoughts down. What surprised me, though, was how much I accepted the Joker and how he was. I only hadn't realized it until now, though. Now that I was letting my thoughts run wild.

**not only that, but—**

The door to my office slammed open then, and I flinched so violently my glasses almost fell off of my nose. I looked like a child who had just been caught doing something they weren't supposed to be doing.

Patel seemed too distracted to notice, and as he continued into my office, I hastily saved my Word document and closed it.

"Let's hurry this up, Quinzel. I have a meeting to get to, and you have your appointment with the Joker now."

I raised a thin eyebrow at him, glancing at the time on my computer. Eleven-thirty. My appointment wasn't supposed to be until two.

"Now? What's happened that it can't wait until the scheduled time?" I got up from my seat anyway, though, and leaned against my desk as I watched him, waiting for an answer.

"If you must know, he's a bit cranky that you missed your appointment with him yesterday, and he's being quite the handful. I can't deal with him because I have a meeting, so for the love of _God_, just take the man off of our hands for an hour." As he spoke he opened the door to my office and practically shoved me through.

I didn't protest and let him usher me along as he explained the circumstances.

"He's acting like a child: He won't eat, he's smart-talking anybody who encounters him, and when one of the nurses tried to get into his cell to give him his medication, he nearly attacked her," His hard eyes focused on me from behind his glasses, studying me. "It's almost as if his favourite toy was taken away. Normally I wouldn't give him what he wants, but as I said, I've got a meeting to attend to."

We were standing outside the examination room now, the two macho orderlies waiting for us. That reminded me.

"Dr. Patel, I don't suppose it'd be possible for this session to be unsupervised?" I inquired, keeping a close eye on his reaction. It wasn't too far from what I had imagined it would be: he looked down at me with such a look of disbelief you'd think I'd asked him if he was secretly a ballerina.

"And I don't _suppose _it'd be possible for you to explain just why, exactly, you'd be crazy enough to request such a thing?" His full attention seemed to be on me now; whatever meeting he had been stressing over now came in second.

I shifted my weight comfortably, weighing the clipboard in my hands. "I could tell the Joker was reserved in our session—his eyes were constantly flickering to the camera. Not to mention the two-hundred pound orderly. I'll still agree to his restraints, and the orderlies can remain outside should anything happen, but I'd like for it to be virtually just the two of us."

Patel squinted, the minor wrinkles he had in his face becoming deeper and more pronounced with the expression. His dull green (or were they grey?) eyes searched me, searched me for any reason to say no, any reason for me to not have my way.

In the end, I guess he couldn't find one, because he huffed, and said, "Fine, Quinzel. I don't have time to argue with you. Do whatever you need to. Work your miracles. There'll be nobody in the monitoring rooms, and one of_ you_," he said, turning to the orderlies now, "go help the nurses attend to Nigma."

The two men seemed to look to each other for a moment, deciding who it would be, before Patel impatiently pointed to one and he shuffled off. Patel watched him leave, before tapping my 'Harlequin' nametag that was pinned to my chest. "I'm off. Please, Dr. Harlequin, do remember who you're dealing with." And with that, he was gone.

The other orderly positioned himself outside the door, and I moved past him, adjusting my nametag as I opened the door to where the Joker waited for me.

The Joker looked up as soon as he heard the door close behind me, but his expression didn't change: he simply watched as I made my way across the room, pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down across from him.

I knew that if he wanted to talk he would, and so I didn't force it. I sat there in complete silence with him, for what I would guess to be about five minutes.

The whole time we sat he was staring at me, and I stared back—at first. Looking straight into his black eyes as he gazed back with such intensity was too much, and I could only look straight at him for the two minutes out of five.

I saw his eyes wander down to my chest, and only for a split second did I think he was staring _at_my chest, before I realized he was reading my nametag. He grinned—the sort of grin that consumed your whole face, and I almost smiled just looking at it. After that I let my eyes wander to his scars.

I could tell he was still watching me; he watched as my eyes trailed along the bumps and jagged skin from the corners of his mouth to his mid cheek, and back down again.

It was much easier to see just how mutilated the skin was when he had no red greasepaint covering it (which was ironic, considering he wore the greasepaint to, presumably, bring out the scars.)

I was so absorbed in his scars that the only way I knew he had started talking to me was because his mouth was moving.

He wasn't talking, though. He was making quick little '_tsk tsk tsk_' noises as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, all the while never taking his eyes off of me. I moved a bit in my seat, feeling strangely like a kid about to be lectured by the principal, or their mom.

"Soo…Our dear little Harlequin has decided to join us today, has she?" He mused, his stare now becoming mocking as his scars curved into a smile.

I looked into his eyes now, straightening up in my seat as I put my clipboard firmly on the table. "I apologize for missing yesterday's appointment, Joker, but I had other matters to attend to."

Curiosity piqued, he leaned forward then, keeping his arms crossed as he rested his elbows on the table. "And those matters _were_?" he pushed on, which I knew he would.

Despite me being a mascot for mutual trust, I decided then to feed him the same lie I told Patel. "If you must know, my uncle passed away yesterday."

The Joker cringed, mouthing '_ouch_' as he did so, but I knew he didn't buy it.

"How'd he go?"

"Heart-attack." I said shortly, hoping that was what I had told Patel, considering I had already forgotten. Or did I say stroke…?

"Is that so?" He murmured, looking around as if he was imagining it in his head. In the same second, though, his eyes snapped back to me. "Now why don't you tell me why you _really _missed our session?"

I knew it. I turned around to look at the camera that was in the back corner of the room, and swore under my breath when I saw that the little red light was still on. Patel may not have anybody in there watching us, but the camera was still recording.

The Joker obviously saw me looking at it, and he raised his eyebrows comically high, as if just realizing its presence for the first time.

"_Oooh_. It must be a juicy secret if you lied to both me _and _Patel. C'mon, little Harlequin. You can trust daddy."

I ripped my eyes from the camera and turned back to him. Trust and the Joker didn't exactly go hand in hand, but if I didn't trust him, how could I expect him to trust me?

I had to bet that Patel wasn't lying. I had to put all my money on the fact that Patel was a decent human being, and wasn't secretly in the monitoring room, dying to see why, exactly, I wanted to be unsupervised with the Joker. If he really was there, I could say goodbye to my job.

"Fine," I said hastily, turning back once more to shoot a quick glance at the camera, "I went to go meet up with a friend last night. Happy?"

He licked his lips and leaned back comfortably, tilting his head to the left and cracking it. "Almost," He said thoughtfully, and his black eyes were back on mine. "But there's a few other things I'm uh, _curious_ about. Not to toot my own horn now, but I'm…well, I'm _me_." And he held out arms and raised his eyebrows, and I held back a smirk.

"So, see, what I'm thinking is that this…ah, friend? They weren't just any old friend, now were they? Who's the guy?"

Part of me inwardly applauded his ability at deductive reasoning, but another part of me cursed it. "What makes you think there's a guy?" I asked lightly, partly to stall and perhaps steer away from this part of the conversation, and partly because I really was curious.

The Joker just rolled his eyes and looked at me like I was an idiot. "If a picture says a thousand words, then expressions say it all. And your expression? Well, you're wearing the face of a _cheater_." He said, scrunching his face up in distaste at the last word.

I frowned in confusion, forgetting about the camera and the possible prying eyes behind it. "A cheater? I don't get it, I haven't cheated on anybody."

The Joker was shaking his head before I was done, and he looked up at me with his eyes, tapping his fingers on the table as he spoke. "But you _have_. The only question is _who _are you cheating on? Me, or him?"

I was completely lost now, and he could see it. He saved me the time of having to ask what on _Earth _he was talking about, and hurriedly continued his odd line of thought.

"When you were ditching me for him, did you feel guilty for leaving me? Or happy to be with him?" He leaned back now, clearly amused. "O_rr_, when you're with me, are you happy to be with me, or guilty to be away from him?"

In a strange sort of way, he hit the nail on the head. When I was with Simon, I felt bad for ditching the Joker, sure. But the same could be applied the other way, too. If I were to ditch Simon for the Joker, I'd feel just as bad.

"You're quieter today," He observed, and then looked up to the corner of the room. "Issit the cameras? They've, uh, always been there, you know."

I huffed, taking off my glasses, and looked up at him with my raw blue eyes. "Yes, I know. But today's session is unsupervised, actually." I said it with 50/50 confidence, me not even being quite sure myself.

The Joker raised an eyebrow, his eyes still half lidded as he looked at me. "Is that so?"

Somehow, his doubt was making me more confident—almost like when you're caught in a lie, and yet you get more defensive. I nodded firmly. "Yes, Patel had a meeting to attend to, and I requested we be left unsupervised and unmonitored, as you can see from the lack of orderlies in the room. There is one outside, however."

My explanation didn't seem to help anybody, though, because the Joker still looked just as unimpressed as he did three seconds ago.

"_Hmmmmm_…" he hummed out in contemplation, his fingers drumming on the table and his leg tapping the ground so quickly that it was sending vibrations through the table.

"What is it?" I asked eagerly, picking up my clipboard and readying my pen. Even if we weren't one-hundred percent sure Patel was watching or not, maybe the lack of orderly was enough to inspire him to talk about something juicy.

He looked at me, then to my clipboard in distaste, but the look quickly disappeared as he remembered his original train of thought.

"If the cameras really _are_ off," He slurred, the ghost of a smirk on the edges of his mouth. "How about you, uh, _prove _it to me?"

I put my clipboard down dejectedly, seeing that he clearly wasn't going to spill anything juicy, but instead play with me. I decided to humour him.

"And how, exactly, could I do that?"

That seemed to be exactly what he wanted to hear, because he smiled slightly and sat up from his slouched position, suddenly full of energy. "See, I'm the kinda guy who goes for the whole 'actions speak louder than words, thing." he paused to smack his lips, his tongue lingering on his scars. "So, if you want to prove it to me…"

He paused, and I looked at him. His eyes were wandering around, as if he was coming up with an idea, but something told me he already knew what he wanted me to do. His eyes were on me then, staring. Though instead of his eyes burning into mine like they usually did, this time, they were trailing all over my body.

I had never really had a problem with this, considering I used to be a gymnast and I was used to wearing skin-tight leotards, but when _he _did it…

I quickly scooped up my clipboard and held it up to my chest. "What is it?" I asked warily.

"If there's really no one there," the Joker said, raising his hand and pointing at the camera, as if accusing it. "Then how about showing it the girls?"

I stared at him dumbly, but once what he was saying registered, my mouth dropped open. The reaction seemed to please him, because he buckled over and erupted into a fit of high pitched laughter.

In an effort to regain at least a shred of professionalism, I slammed my clipboard down and pushed up my glasses, though I couldn't do anything about my flustered appearance.  
"Mr. Joker, not only would I refuse to do that regardless of whether or not the camera's were on or not, it would be extremely unprofessional of me."

His laughter seemed to die down, and he turned to me slowly as he collected himself. "Yeah? Well what have we been doing for the last fifteen minutes? _Now _you decide to become professional, just when things were getting fun?"

It felt like I was slapped, and I looked away from him so he couldn't see the hurt on my face. It wasn't much help though, because he childishly leaned over just so that he could see me.

"Hey now, don't feel bad, doc. Being unprofessional is a good thing. I'd rather sit and talk with you like this than have another person in here shooting questions at me left right and center." I wasn't sure if that was supposed to make me feel better or worse, but I perked up at what he said next. "And who knows, I may have some, uh, _interesting _stuff to say to you if you give the camera something to look at."

"The camera, or you?" I asked dubiously.

He shrugged. "Can't blame a dog for trying to take a treat when it's shown to him."

I couldn't believe I was considering it. We had managed to steer the conversation away from why I was gone yesterday, to which I had admitted on camera that I was lying to meet up with a date. That, I could _maybe _weasel out of. If I did this, though, I was fired for sure.

I bit my lip and looked over to the Joker, and he returned the look, biting his lip and displaying a look of mock concern, as if he didn't know what to do either.

"No," I blurted out, before I contemplated it anymore and maybe changed my mind. "Of course not. Either take my word that there's nobody monitoring us, or don't. I don't have to prove anything to you."

He shot daggers at me, and all traces of a smile had vanished. He stared at me for a few more seconds before shrugging and slicking his dirty blonde and green hair back. "Suit yourself." He said simply, and relaxed back into the chair, putting his cuffed hands in his lap.

_Shit_. I cursed to myself. He called my bluff. Now if I took it back I'd seem spineless.

_Think about your book_, some other part of me hissed, _just do what he says and he'll spill the beans!_

I pushed the fame-crazed part of me aside. Besides, even if I did do as he said, there was no guarantee he would tell me shit. In fact, it was more likely he'd just ask me why on Earth I was flashing a camera.

"Counter-proposal," I piped up, and he looked up lazily. "I won't flash the camera—or reveal any skin, for that matter, but I _am_ willing to do _something _to prove to you that there's nobody watching us behind that camera."

He looked up then; not at the camera but just up in general, thinking of what he could propose. I clenched my hands into fists, desperately wanting to earn his trust, but not have to throw my dignity out the window at the same time.

My eyes widened in surprise when he started getting out of his seat, and I noticed that the only thing restrained about him was his hands. His feet were cuff-free, and he wasn't cuffed to the chair. Usually I was anti-restraints, but I couldn't help the cold sweat that broke out on the back of my neck. You'd have to be an idiot to honestly think the Joker couldn't kill somebody just because of the handcuffs.

Looking at him now, though, he just looked like a normal guy (if you were able to look past the scars.)

Sure, his eyes were darker and much fiercer than the average man, but with his tousled light brown hair and masculine form, he almost looked like a surfer straight from California.

He was standing at his full height now, and I just realized that the room was so small that if he got up on his toes and reached, he could probably touch the ceiling. I couldn't reach it even if I jumped.

I tried to not sound nervous when I finally asked: "Why are you standing?"

Maybe he really did believe me when I told him the cameras were unoccupied. Maybe he was going to take this chance to kill me and make an escape.

The thought made my throat dry, and I swallowed painfully.

He turned his head to me, and you'd think I just walked into the room from the way he looked at me.

"You want to prove that we're alone, right?" he turned to me fully now, holding out his arms as much as he could with the handcuffs on. "Then how about giving ol' Uncle Joker a hug?"

My mouth hung open as I stared at him. Was he serious? I was seriously starting to reconsider flashing the camera. At least if I flashed the camera I wouldn't be violating the one rule Patel always drilled into our heads: 'Maintain distance. _Never _touch the dangerous patients.'

"You really expect me to go over there and hug you? What's to stop you from crushing me to death, or choking me with your handcuffs?"

The Joker looked around the room, turning around in circles as he looked over every inch. Then he turned back to me and shrugged. "Well, nothing, apparently."

I put my glasses back on. If he really wanted to kill me, what was stopping him right now? If he wasn't attacking me right now based on the fact that there was a chance the camera might be supervised, then what would happen if he found out it wasn't?

Still…The idea was tempting. Not because I was desperate to leap into the arms of a psychotic terrorist, but because if I lived, who else could say that they had _embraced _the Joker and lived to tell the tale?

Much less right a book about it, I inwardly added.

I made eye contact with him as I slowly got up from my chair, and he just watched me silently. Although he was wearing his dull blue Arkham jump suit, you could practically see him in his signature vest and pants as he stood at his full height.

"I admit," I said slowly as I started walking towards him, "I'm not sure if Patel kept his word, so even I'm not certain if there's anybody watching." It was a desperate attempt to keep him in line—to hopefully keep him from, you know, killing me.

By the time I had stopped talking, I was about an arm's length away from him.

"Well then," He said airily, "I guess we're about to find out."

Before I could register exactly what he said, he pulled my wrist so roughly that I was sent forward, my head landing into his chest and an '_oof_' sound escaping me involuntarily as we collided.

Completely winded, I didn't recover fast enough from that hurtle, and he grabbed my upper arms and lifted me so that I stood up straight. Then, he brought his hands over my head and down my back, so that the handcuffs, which were supposed to restrain him, were now confining me to him.

I recovered slowly, still trying to process what had just happened as I breathed quickly into his chest. I tried to scoot back a bit, but surely enough, the chain of the handcuffs stopped me. And, to add insult to injury, he pulled me closer.

I squirmed as he giggled, and I finally just settled with looking up at him and giving him a sour look. He looked down at me and only offered me a smile, before hushing me.

We stood there for a few moments, my arms pressed against his chest in the small space I had, and his arms circled around me. His head was turned towards the ceiling, as if he was listening for something.

"What is it?" I breathed, but he paid me no attention. After a few more seconds, he looked into the camera.

"Either nobodies behind that camera, _or_…" He looked down at me, studying my face. "They're putting your life at risk to see how this little, uh, _encounter, _plays out."

Patel wasn't the nicest guy, but I knew him. If he saw this happening on camera, he'd have the orderlies here in a second. So, he really _was _at the meeting. I wasn't sure whether to be happy that he was true to his word, or terrified.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm still not convinced that the little camera over there is not _ocupado_."

I didn't have time to wonder why exactly that was unfortunate for me, because in the next second he roughly shoved me into the wall, successfully hitting the back of my head. My vision went blurry, and I attempted to blink the fog away.

I felt him leading me somewhere, and I didn't know where until I felt the table digging into my ass. He leaned forward over me, and I had no choice but to submit and bend back under his weight.

The hands that were previously behind my back were now gripping my hair, sloppily and hastily attempting to rip it out of its bun. He succeeded in the end, and I felt my blonde hair splay all over the table. Once that was done, he grabbed two fistfuls of my hair, his thumb occasionally stroking my cheek a little too roughly to be considered gently.

The chain of the handcuffs was now behind my head, digging into the lump that was surely forming thanks to him, and I knew he was doing it on purpose. The fuzziness was still in my vision, but the world had stopped spinning, or at least slowed down a little.

Still unsatisfied, he slipped in between my legs, shoving me even more roughly into the table. The pencil skirt I was wearing today was an elastic material, so once he was in between my legs, the skirt forcefully made my thighs wrap around him.

He bent down over me, still playing with my hair, his own dirty blonde curls falling around my face. I could see the specks of green still in it despite my blurred vision, and attempted to look at him without seeing double.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, but the Joker must have done it swiftly and violently, considering the orderly outside didn't interfere.

"Huh," the Joker said in realization as he lifted his head to look around, but then bent it down so that he was back to being mere inches away from my face. "I guess there really _is _nobody there. Or your boss is just a prick." And then he chuckled, and I could feel it run through my whole body.

I was regaining myself and I began to squirm, and I was about to bring my arms up to hit him, when I realized they were pinned under his forearms. When did that happen?

"Ah, ah, _ah_. Play-time isn't over, little Harlequin." Every word was breathed into my face, and his mouth smelled of decay. "Or should I say, little Har_leen_ Quin_zel_?"

I looked up at him, still in a daze. I was still coherent enough to know that he shouldn't know my name, though. "How…d'you know my name?" I mumbled, and I noticed he was staring at my lips as I spoke.

"This is Arkham, baby. You want to keep a secret? You're gonna have to shove it in a steel safe and throw away the key. Even then, a safe _might _not be the best idea. I know a guy."

I was barely aware of what he was saying, and I didn't even react when he lowered his head to my chest. I guess taking his hands out from behind my head was too much of a hassle, so he used his teeth to rip off my Harlequin name-tag, and spit it to the side.

"J…" I mumbled, barely coherent now. He raised an eyebrow at the familiar nickname, and I went on. "If you know my real name, then I'm calling ya…J." my words were a jumbled mess I could hardly understand myself, so I was surprised when he understood.

He threw his head back and laughed, and then shrugged, rolling my name over his tongue. "Harleen Quinzel. Harleeeeen Quin-zel. You look a little out of it, feeling tired?"

I was. I wanted nothing more than to go home and slip into bed. Did I have a concussion?

He pressed himself closer, grinding his hips into me, presumably demanding a response, but sentences, let alone train of thoughts, were becoming harder and harder to maintain.

"I'd say that's a _yes_. Nighty-night, Harls."

I saw his forehead coming closer, and once it painfully collided with mine, everything went black.


	5. Disposal

**I have finally returned! I know it hasn't been **_**too**_** long, but I had planned to update _waay_ sooner. A separation in the family kind of slowed down the process and I just wasn't in the mood to write, but what better time to write then when you're feeling gloomy? Anyway, expect chapters more regularly now that I'm back. Can't wait to start getting to the stuff I have planned.**

* * *

I was slightly aware of the fact that I was unconscious—familiar voices around me faded in and out in patches.

If I was aware of the fact that I was unconscious, did that make me conscious? Probably, but I sure as hell didn't feel conscious. I tried wiggling my toes, fingers, arm, anything, but my body didn't respond. And so, I stopped fighting it and let the darkness consume me once more.

The next time I "woke up" It was still black, but the voices were clearer now, and I recognized Patel.  
"—sn't monitoring. If I was, this never would have_ happened_!"

The next voice was a female. It wasn't Joan, so just another random nurse, I assumed. What she said, though, was anybody's guess; my hearing was back to the point where it sounded as if someone's fingers were rammed up my ears.

Drowsiness hit me in a powerful wave suddenly, but instead of relenting and falling back into the arms of unconsciousness, I fought back, desperately trying to keep my mind clear. I did this by focusing on Patel's voice.

"—lashes fluttering—aking up soon. Get me some water."

My eyelashes were fluttering? Sure didn't feel like it, not to mention everything was still black and my body was still unresponsive. My hearing was coming back, though, and when the footsteps I heard coming towards me stopped, I felt something cold on my forehead. It was enough to make my eyes snap open, and as soon as they finally did, I sat up quickly.

Bad idea. I wobbled a bit where I sat, noticing that they had laid me down on a cot in one of the nurses offices. Patel held out the cold thing for me, which turned out to be a bottle of water, and I took it from him gratefully, taking small, careful sips.

"What happened?" I croaked, squinting against the harsh lights of the asylum. I had a pretty good idea, but the memory was fuzzy.

Patel stared down at me as the nurse scurried out of the room, rubbing his stubble slightly. He looked like a dad who was deciding whether or not to let their kid go to prom.

"I'm not too sure myself," He finally answered, his dull grey eyes searching me. "I was in the middle of my meeting, when I heard a scream from one of the nurses. We rushed out to the source of the noise, and found you and the orderly unconscious." He said it all very matter-of-factly, and looked at me over the rim of his glasses. Before I could even ask, Patel added "The Joker was nowhere to be seen."

I shot up again (I had lied back down to soothe my throbbing head), suddenly very alert. "Did he escape? Just like that? Nobody saw him?" It hurt to think, but my mind was going a hundred miles an hour. There was no way _nobody_ had seen him, he couldn't have just walked out of the asylum.

"Calm down, Quinzel. I didn't finish. We went to go look at the tapes from the surveillance cameras, see if we could find where he went."

I froze where I sat, my blood turning cold in my veins. "What did you find…?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to blow my cover if, by some miracle, he hadn't yet seen the tapes from my session with the Joker.

Patel only let out a frustrated sigh, taking off his glasses like he always did under stress. "Nothing. He somehow managed to weasel into every blind spot the surveillance cameras have."

I relaxed a bit. If he was going to mention anything about the session, he would have brought it up just then. I didn't believe in God, but this sheer miracle made me question his existence.

I focused fully on what he was telling me now, and managed to stand, albeit on unstable legs. "Did you find him?"

The older man was hovering around me, his arms slightly out in a cautious matter, afraid I would fall. When he saw I had managed to stand up straight and was waiting for an answer, though, he cleared his throat and straightened up.

"No. After we were done searching through every nook and cranny of the asylum, we found him sitting outside of his cell, tapping his heels. Waiting for us."

"And nobody knows what he did while he was roaming about?" I asked, but was more at ease hearing he was still in the clutches of the Asylum. It was too early to lose him now.

A grimace formed on Patel's face then, most likely annoyed at me for reminding him of his shortcomings. "That's just it. Who knows if he even did _anything_. Who's to say he didn't just knock you two out for the hell of it, and went straight back to his cell? I certainly wouldn't put it past him to do all of this just to mess with us."

I pondered the possibility. Sure, the Joker did seem to be the kind of man who would do something like that, but in this certain scenario, the puzzle piece just didn't fit. "I don't know," I admitted to Patel, staring at the white floor of the nurse's office. "I think he did something. You said he was sitting outside of his cell, right?" I looked to Patel for confirmation before continuing my thought.

Visibly annoyed I had disagreed with him, his nose was slightly scrunched, but he nodded slowly nonetheless, willing to see where I was going with this.

"Well that seems like a sign of victory to me. If he did it just to mess with us, then he could have just kept sitting at the examination room table. Or go cause mayhem throughout the asylum. But the fact that he kept himself hidden and carried out whatever he did in private, and then went back to sit by his cell, it's almost like he's saying, 'I'm done. You can lock me back up now.'"

Patel had obviously been bent to disagree with whatever theory I conjured up, but after I explained it, he looked to the side in thought, slowly putting on his glasses as he did so.

"It's possible," he said stubbornly, his ego quite clearly bruised. "I'll have to watch the tapes from your session together to be sure."

I panicked. "I don't think that's relevant to the situation, in all honesty. I didn't base that thought off of what happened in our session. It was fairly uneventful, to be honest."

Patel only looked to me for a second before looking back to the wall. "Be that as it may, I'll still need to examine it, obviously. Perhaps something you brought up triggered him to act so violently. I'll go check them—assuming, of course, you don't need anything…?"

I was really panicking now. What would he do when he saw that tape? There was no way he would let me get away with my job. The one thing they drill into your head is to never show vulnerabilities to the patient, never get touchy with the patient, and never get intimate. I had managed to break all of those in that one session.

Forget my job—if they see that, my whole psychology career might be at stake.

"Uh, actually," I piped up quickly, just as Patel was turning for the door, "I'd love a water-bottle not quite so cold, this one's making my head feel like it's going to split."

I had never seen him look quite so exasperated, but his face softened when he saw me wince and rub at my temple (which, actually, wasn't acting.)

"One lukewarm water-bottle coming up," Patel muttered, and as soon as he shut the door behind him, I jumped up from where I was sitting. I stood by the door, waiting until I could no longer hear his footsteps, before I quietly slipped out.

I wasted no time in getting to the monitoring room. I didn't think through what I would do if somebody was already in there, watching the tapes. Bribe them, perhaps? I decided to worry about it if it happened, and opened the door, bracing myself for whatever was about to happen.

It was empty. Pumping my fist enthusiastically, I quickly shut the door behind me, making my way over to the monitors and looking at the intimidating control panels.

All staff was required to know the basics in case of an emergency. The basics included: Knowing how to flip between cameras, knowing how to pause, rewind, fast forward, and finally, how to delete.

It was easy to find the footage, considering it was the most recent. It had stopped recording, due to the timer Patel had set for an hour. The footage was in black and white, and I muted the footage so that my pounding heart was the only thing I could hear.

I was about to delete it, when a question suddenly popped into my mind:

What happened after I got knocked out?

I didn't have time to watch the footage here, but I did know how to convert the footage to VHS.

I was getting cocky. I didn't have time for this. Patel had probably already returned with the water-bottle, only to find me missing. That wasn't a problem; I could just tell him I went to the bathroom to be sick. The problem was staying in here for too long.

But as always, my curiosity won out, and I quickly arranged the necessary cables and tape, waiting for the data to transfer. I flinched violently at any and all footsteps, and almost locked the door a few times. But if I did that, they would demand why it was locked and I'd have to open it anyhow.

My hands were shaking by the time it was finally done, and once it was on the VHS, I deleted all remains of the footage. I held the tape in my unsteady hands, quickly slipping it into the front of my pencil skirt, happy that I had worn the elastic one, which stretched and made room for the tape.

I cracked open the door, squinting against the sliver of light that entered the dark monitor room. Seeing it was clear, I carefully slipped out, doing my best to walk so that my heels made no noise. I almost applauded myself when I made it to the girl's bathroom without anybody seeing me, and slipped into a stall.

I rested a hand on the warm VHS tape tucked beneath my clothes, anxious to just get home and watch it.

Sure, I was anxious and curious to watch it, and with good reason, considering anyone would want to see what the Joker had done once he had knocked me out. But more than that, I just wanted to see it. I planned to watch the whole session, and I wished I could have said it was so that I could gather information.

I was _excited_ to watch it.

I left the stall, looking in the mirror to see if the rectangle shape of the tape could be seen from beneath my clothes. Luckily my burgundy sweater did an adequate job of hiding it, and any part of it that did sort of show just looked like wrinkles, if you didn't look too close.

I touched my face and watched as the woman in the mirror did the same. I realized I wasn't wearing my glasses. Either Patel had them, or they were on the floor of the examination room.

I decided to go look later, and made my way out of the bathroom. As fate would have it, Patel was walking towards me.

"Figured you'd be in there. Here," He handed me the lukewarm water-bottle, and I took a swig from it immediately. "You can take the rest of the day off. Get some rest. And in case you were wondering, you don't have a concussion, but the back of your head is pretty swollen. I hope you don't like sleeping on your back."

"Thanks, I think I'll do that. –Oh! But first, do you know where my glasses are?" They were my only pair, so if those were lost, I would be without glasses. Again, not that I really needed them, but my eyes weren't bad enough that I would actually go out and buy another pair just for the sake of looking smart. If those were gone, it was bye-bye bespectacled Harley.

"Oh, right. You'll have to get a new prescription. They were pretty much shattered when we found them on the floor."

I raised an eyebrow. "How could that be? If they fell off, I'd expect a crack at most."

Patel adjusted his own glasses, as if to rub in the fact that he still had his. "If you must know, it appeared as if somebody had stepped on them various times."

"_That asshole_!" I exclaimed in an exasperated huff, quickly taking another swig of my water and moving it from cheek to cheek as I fumed.

"Language, Quinzel. Anyway, you shouldn't drive home in your condition. I'll give you money for a cab, for today and tomorrow. You can leave your car here." Patel told me, bringing out his wallet and handing me some of its contents.

"Thank you, Patel." I said earnestly, putting the money into my pocket as I waited for him to walk away. When I saw him head in the direction of the monitoring room, I turned on my heels and made my way out of the asylum like a bat out of hell.

* * *

It was just turning two when I got home, and I had never been happier to step into my cozy apartment. I knew I was bound to fall asleep somewhere, so I got changed into my pajamas (which consisted of one of my dad's big black t-shirts I had stolen a while back, and plaid purple capris) while I was still awake enough to do so.

I brought the pillows and blankets from my bed over to the couch, plopping down and momentarily checking my phone for texts. Nothing. Well, on a normal day I'd still be at work right now, so it was to be expected.

My stare then shifted to the VHS which was on my cluttered marble coffee table between the couch and the TV. I picked it up; desperate to see what had happened that I couldn't remember. The last bit of our session I remember with clarity was walking over to him and about to hug him. After that, only snippets of my memory were still in contact, and I couldn't even make them out that well.

I slid the tape into my VCR, suddenly very happy that I had been too cheap to buy a DVD player and had instead just taken with me the VCR I've had since about twelve. Though, back then, it was used exclusively for _Sailor Moon_, not deranged psychopaths.

As soon as I hit play, a familiar scene played out before me, but from a whole new perspective. We had sat in silence for a whole five minutes as soon as I walked in, me looking at his scars, too scared to look at his eyes. Though now, thanks to the camera (which was in the corner to my back left, allowing me to see him clearly) I could look at him without hesitation.

He was staring at me; maybe not at my eyes, but certainly at my face—unblinking, too. It sent a shiver down my spine, to see that I hadn't even realized he'd been looking at me so intensely. Though it seemed he soon got bored and smacked his lips, which I remember seeing him do, and his gaze floated lazily to the camera.

I looked back into his recorded face as he searched the camera, as if looking hard enough would reveal to him if there was somebody behind the monitors watching our session.

He spoke to me then, and our conversation started. It was odd, listening to the session after the fact. But it was also painful. Now that I wasn't in the moment of the session, I was thinking up so many better things I could have said, better things I could have asked. But, what's done was done.

I got up to grab some coffee, leaving the tape on. My apartment was small enough that I could hear it from the kitchen, but I still micro-waved the brown liquid and poured it quickly, wanting to watch and not just listen.

I sat back on the couch, making eye contact with myself a few times as my recorded self spared nervous glances to the camera. The Joker had just proposed his 'flash the camera' deal, and my face was in my hands as I watched.

"Don't do it, you moron!" I groaned, though I obviously already knew that I hadn't. What was painful was watching me consider it, and the Joker's amused expression as I did so. "See that, ladies and gentleman? That's the face of a man who has just lost all respect for you as an authority figure. I can't believe I considered flashing the goddamn camera!" I put my face in my pillow, watching in agony, suddenly regretting my decision to watch the tape.

I watched as he proposed the hug, and after a bit of talking, black-and-white me stood up. I sipped my coffee, watching the events unfold. I already knew he was going to pull me into him, so I looked at his face, to see what expression he would be wearing.

The expression he wore as he watched me walk slowly towards him was much like a man watching a stripper dance at a strip-club—not that there was anything perverted or lecherous about it, but the way his head was tilted, his full attention on me, waiting to see what would happen. I couldn't quite explain it if I tried.

And then he pulled me in, trapping me between him and the cuffs. I winced as I watched him slam my head into the wall, and the back of my head throbbed angrily, reminding me.

This was where my memory started to get hazy, and so I set my coffee down, leaning forward and watching intently. Thanks to the head injury, I looked completely drunk as he led me to the table, so I wasn't surprised I didn't remember.

I stopped breathing when I saw him push me into the table, leaning over me and making me bend with him. His hands were in my hair, ripping it out of its bun as he maneuvered between my legs. I brought my knees to my chest, staring in awe at his actions. I tried to find the outrage, or the rage in general, but found none.

What the Joker said next revealed he was only doing it to see if anybody was monitoring, to see if anybody would come in and stop what was happening. But when nobody came in, he had his answer. Yet he didn't pull away from me.

I chuckled as I watched myself, in my barely coherent state, begin to squirm like a worm, cornered by the big bad eagle. The Joker looked just as amused.

It was revealed he knew my name, and I cursed under my breath, wondering who told him. Probably an orderly or nurse. Maybe even another patient. And then, in return, I apparently told him I would call him J.

"J" I said aloud, testing it on my lips, tasting it on my tongue. A moment later I scrunched up my nose in distaste. It didn't suit him. It was too…Human. Too Normal.

He didn't seem to have a problem with it, though. Then again, that could be argued, considering in the next second he brought his forehead down so hard onto mine, that my whole body immediately went limp in the next second. I felt my forehead then, and hissed when I felt how tender it was. It hadn't bruised, somehow, but the injury was definitely there.

Two hits to the head by the Joker. I was genuinely surprised I didn't have a concussion.

Now that I was knocked out, that was where my fuzzy, useless memories officially ended, and everything from this point on was new. I held my breath as I watched, absently picking up my coffee cup and giving it the death grip.

The Joker stayed in-between the legs of my unconscious body as he stretched, and then removed himself lazily. He began walking to the door, but looked back sharply, as If I had called for him. My body was awkwardly bent over the table and my glasses were almost falling off of my face.

He strode over to me, picking up my glasses and looking at them as if they were some contaminated rag. The next second, though, he brushed back his hair and put them on, looking around the room. He cackled a bit in amusement, presumably from the fact that they were such a weak prescription, and then dropped them on the floor. He wasted no time in jumping over and hopping on them various times, giggling like a child as he did so.

_Bastard_, I couldn't help but think as I continued to watch the cruel punishment to my glasses.

After he was done with that, he made his way over to me once again, and lifted me by the armpits, much like one would with a baby, before placing me on the floor. I was surprised he didn't just drop me.

He stared at me on the floor like that for a bit, before he turned me over so that I was on my side. "You're, uh, gonna wanna put some ice on that." He said to me, as if I could actually hear him. Embarrassingly enough, though, I went to get a pack of frozen peas from the freezer after he said that, settling back down on the couch as I pressed it into my swollen head.

He seemed to be done with me, cause the next second he was opening the door to the examination room. The Joker was waiting expectantly in the doorway, waiting for the orderly outside to turn around, probably, but when nothing happened, he grew impatient.

"Hey, buddy, you uh, planning to do your job, or what? There's an unconscious _psychologist_ in here, for God's sake." At that, the well-built orderly walked in, and as soon as he saw my limp body, he must have assumed the worst, because he snapped his head towards the Joker.

"You're about to be in a world of pain, freak," The orderly grunted, making his way towards the Joker.

"Thaat's it, _thaaat's_ it. Come at me, come get me, coome _on_…" The Joker beckoned, watching as the muscle-head closed in on him. As soon as said muscle head took a swing though, the Joker ducked, and sprung right back up, his head colliding with the orderlies jaw. There was a sickening crack, and the Joker reveled in it, laughing hysterically as the man staggered back.

The Joker reached down for my clipboard, and looked down at my unconscious form. "Gonna borrow this, Doc." And as soon as it was in his grasp, he winded his arms back and hit the orderly across the face, hitting his jaw again and causing the man to cry out in pain. Thanks to the distraction pain had brought, The Joker put his hand on the man's face, sending him into the wall just like he had me, except much harder. The man's form immediately went limp once his head made contact with the wall, and the clown stepped back, turning back to me and dropping the clipboard by my head.

With a quick wave to the camera, he was out the door, not bothering to close it behind him and conceal his actions. I watched a bit longer, fast forwarding to see if anything else happened, but the tape cut out before the nurse or Patel found us.

I took the tape out of the VHS and put it on the table, wondering exactly what the Joker had done while he was roaming around the asylum.

_I'll just try to ask him next session_—

Wait, would Patel _let_ me have another session? After what was nothing less than assault on the Jokers part, it was doubtful…But Patel _was_ selfish. If he really thought I was the only person who could get to the Joker, then hell, he might even send me back in there if the Joker had stabbed me.

I couldn't wait till tomorrow to find out, and I quickly found Patel's number on my phone. I sent him a plain and simple text:

**Dr. Patel, I hope today's events haven't changed your mind about me working with the Joker? From now on, though, I'll agree to the session being monitored, and for an orderly to be inside the room with us. Get back to me soon.**

I didn't have much else to do, so I snuggled up in my blankets and literally stared at my phone until the screen lit up, indicating his answer had arrived. I opened it slowly, fearing the answer.

**We'll see. We'll talk about it tomorrow, come to my office first thing.  
**  
I exhaled. Unlike parents, where "we'll see" usually meant no, with Patel, it really did mean, _we'll see_. He had no qualms with refusing someone something, as he was quite blunt.

_He just needs a little push to make a decision_, I thought, smiling. _I'll convince him tomorrow._

It was most likely due to the abuse to my head, but I was the most tired I'd been in a while. I lied down on the couch, somewhat scared to fall asleep, in case I never woke up again, even though Patel said it wasn't a concussion.

As I drifted into unconsciousness for the second time that day, I wondered who I'd tell the incident to. Selina would get pissed, Simon would get scared and protective, and my parents—hell, they didn't even _know_ I was working with the Joker yet.

_Might not be working with him for much longer_, the pessimist in me added, but I couldn't bring myself to care at the moment.

It was hardly time to fall asleep for the night, considering it was only 3:34pm, but soon my soft snores were the only noise filling my apartment.

* * *

**Haha now It's time for me to go to bed, too. Wrote this in one sitting since I couldn't just leave it, which is a bad habit of mine. But at least I got it done! ****And Look forward to more Joker in the next chapter, and some interactions from new characters, too. _Ooh._**

**As always, thanks to everyone who has left me feedback and has reviewed, it really lets me know you like the story, and means a lot! ^^**


	6. Coffee stains and grass stains

When I walked through the doors of Arkham, it was still early; seven o'clock, to be exact, but considering that I had fallen asleep at around 3:30pm the day before, I wasn't exactly expecting to sleep in till seven or eight like usual.

It wasn't a problem, however. Patel came in around six (if he even left, that is) and I knew that he'd already be in his office, stressing over the problems he has and problems that were sure to come. Once I reached his office, I knocked a few times out of courtesy, but let myself in soon after anyhow.

Patel didn't seem to care, and gestured to the chair placed at the side of the room. I dragged it over so that I was sitting across from him.

I cut right to the chase.

"Have you come to a decision?"I asked steadily, suddenly very afraid to hear his answer. If he denied me to see the Joker after what happened, I wasn't sure what I would do. He was like the best rollercoaster in the park—now that I've had the chance to experience him in all his exhilarating, breath-taking glory, all of the others just felt dull.

_Is that really why you want to keep seeing him?_

I promptly squashed the annoying voice in the back of my head, my full attention on Patel.

"I have," He returned, and my jaw got tighter. I knew he liked to draw things out but this was the one time where it really was unbearable.

"You've made excellent progress with the Joker, even with the limited time you've had so far. I honestly don't want to, and think it would be unfair to you, if I took this opportunity away from you after one bad run in with him. So, to answer your racing thoughts, yes, you can continue your sessions with the Joker."

I hunched over in relief, though I was well aware that although Patel claimed to be doing this for me, and that it would be unfair to me if he didn't, he really only wanted the results for himself.

"Don't think this excuses him, though. If you still insist on no orderlies in the room, then fine, seeing as how the one you did have didn't exactly do much anyway." I cracked a smile at this, though probably shouldn't have, which Patel made clear by the look he gave me. "But at the very least, from now on instead of handcuffs, he'll be in a straight jacket during your sessions."

I nodded slowly. I could live with that. Actually, it was preferred at the moment. Why they _didn't_ have the Joker in a straight jacket from the start was beyond me.

"Actually, Patel, there was something else I wanted to ask. Would it be possible to have more than just two sessions per week with the Joker?"

Patel seemed surprised by the question, leaning back in his chair as he examined me. "I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm surprised to hear that," He admitted, though he didn't really need to. His surprise was evident enough. "I admit, I originally did want to give you more sessions, but thought it might be too much of a strain on you."

"Not at all," I lied dismissively. It was true that even the two sessions per week had been wearing me out, and it was only the first week, but I honestly didn't care. Nothing a little coffee couldn't fix. "Besides, it's not me that matters, it's the Joker. He needs more attention than just two times per week."

Patel was nodding slowly in agreement, placing his interlaced hands on his desk. "Well then, I'll leave the schedule up to you. You're the only one assigned to him, so anytime you want a session, it's your call."

My eyebrows raised considerably, surprised that Patel was giving me this kind of authority. I didn't dare voice my thought though, lest Patel choose to take it back.

"Oh, did you manage to find out what the Joker did when he wandered out of his cell?" I asked suddenly, just remembering. I doubted they did, but it was worth a shot.

"I think so," The bespectacled man answered much to my surprise, taking off said spectacles and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Nothing major, but the footage from your session is missing. My guess is he went to go erase it, presumably because he didn't want us to be able to know what it was that triggered that violent outburst."

I nodded, as if in agreement. If only he knew the person who had tampered with the footage was the gal sitting across from him. The question was still standing, though: what _did_ the Joker do while on his own?

"So tell me, Quinzel," Patel said seriously, his voice suddenly lowered as he leaned forward. "What exactly _did_ happen in that session?"

I stood up then, going to adjust my glasses, when I remembered they were no longer there. "Ah, ah, ah. Patient confidentiality," I winked at him, leaving his office and closing the door swiftly behind me.

And thank God for that confidentiality, indeed. It allowed me to disguise my secrecy with professionalism. I was smirking all the way back to my office, and as soon as I entered, I booted up my computer.

It was still only around 7o'clock, and thanks to my new leeway, I planned to have a session with the Joker today, but it was too early. Not that he'd be sleeping (_did_ he even sleep?), but if I had the session with him now, I'd be bored for the rest of the day.

And so, I opened the Word document I had created a few days prior, the one with my notes for the book on the Joker.

The inner turmoil hadn't released me just yet, and I still wasn't sure I should go through with it, but I didn't abandon it just yet. Even if I didn't end up making a book out of these notes, they were good notes to have nonetheless.

I listened to music and typed away my thoughts for a few hours, addressing the Jokers past, all of the known stories of the scars that he's told the nurses and orderlies while contained, and why he wears the make-up. In fact, I was surprised he was still so…_Joker_, even without the make-up. That was like his shield, his weapon—most people would become timid, defeated, even _weak_, if it were to be taken away.

Most people.

The general population assumed the Joker was a performer; that if you stripped away his fancy clothes and make up, he'd be reduced to nothing. Even I thought that way, at once. But he still managed to maintain who he was, despite the Arkham suit and bare face.

He was still human, though. It was easy enough to shun him and wish the death penalty upon him when he was covered by a mask of black, white and red. But what would Gotham think if they saw what I saw? What would they think if they saw ragged skin, tousled dirty blonde hair, and the colour of flesh?

Someone knocked at my door then, and I jumped, quickly saving the document, ramblings and all. I closed it before the door opened.

I was surprised to see Joan, no clipboard in hand for once, offering me a friendly smile as she stood in my doorway. I stood up and walked around my desk, offering a winning smile of my own.

"Joan! Nice to see you; with all that's happened, it feels like it's been longer than it actually has." I greeted, though I had gotten the feeling she'd been avoiding me.

"I agree," she responded curtly, always so professional. "I was wondering if you wanted to grab some coffee with me? I'm on break."

I glanced to the clock, noticing it was about eleven thirty now. I had been typing for longer than I thought.

"I'd love to. Come on." I ushered her out of my office, closing the door behind me. We walked to the staff area in awkward silence. There was no way she just wanted to spend time with me, I knew that. I was just waiting for her to hurry up and bring up whatever it was she wanted to bring up.

"How do you take it?" Joan asked, once we got to the coffee machine.

"Just black," I lied, enjoying the surprised look on her face. She complied, offering cream and sugar a few times, but I waved her off, accepting the black coffee.

"So," I started, deciding to be the one to start the real conversation. "Is there anything you wanted to talk about?"

Joan shifted uncomfortably, though her face showed no sign of anything but professionalism. Brushing her dark hair behind her ear, she looked down into her coffee, then back to me.

"Are you sure you can handle the Joker?" Was all she asked, and I resisted rolling my eyes.

"I thought we were past this. I do believe I can, and so does Patel. Though I'm sure you're about to educate me on why we're both wrong." I was almost shocked at the last part of my sentence—shocked at how defensive I was getting. But, there was no way to take it back, and nothing to do but see how she responded.

Joan almost looked offended. _She_ did? _I_ was the one who was currently in the process of having their capability questioned. It was the same old song and dance, and I wasn't really in the mood to hear a list of reasons pertaining to why I shouldn't be dealing with the Joker, so, I saved her the time.

"Look, Joan. We can talk about this another time. I have a session with the Joker."

I only got to enjoy the look of shock on her face for a split second before I turned my back on her and began to walk away, black coffee and all.

I was so busy replaying the scene over and over again in my head that I didn't realize the bright flash of orange closing in. Not until the source of the orange stopped me, and pointed to my coffee.

"Where can I get some of that?" The woman asked, her voice just the right mixture of firm and feminine.

As soon as I got a good look at her, I wanted to cover myself with a paper bag. She was beautiful, with bright, red hair, fierce green eyes, arched eyebrows, and full lips. She was also tall, the Arkham lab coat hugging her angelic frame perfectly, while her long, slender peach legs popped out from the bottom.

I had never seen her before, and the mere shock of running into her had made me forget what it was she had asked.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked sheepishly, thumbing my coffee awkwardly. The red head tapped my coffee with a long, manicured nail, a slight smirk on her face as she looked to me. "Any more of those?" She inquired.

"Oh! Yeah, of course. Back there; coffee's already brewing." I gestured behind me, and she nodded her thanks, and I watched her as she walked away. For a split second, I questioned my sexuality, before I came to the realization that I didn't _want_ her, I wanted to _be_ her.

_Why must all the women in my life be mature, tall, and gorgeous?_ I wondered angrily, and glanced back once more as I walked away.

I had never seen her before. Was she lost? Did she think this was a modeling agency of some sort? No, she was wearing the Arkham lab coat, so she must work here. What did she do? I could turn back, pretending I forgot something, and start a conversation.

Though that meant I would also have to confront Joan, and the idea was unappealing enough to dilute my curiosity for the new woman. I'd run into her again—not like she was easy to miss.

Part of me couldn't help but keep wondering what she did, though. She looked too proud and sophisticated to be a nurse…Could she be the new director? Was Patel resigning? Unlikely, seeing as how he probably would have told me. Was she an assistant? The idea that she could be a psychologist crossed my mind for a moment, and I almost smiled.

The only psychologist friend I had was Simon, but he was my boyfriend. Selena was great, but having a gal pal who understood the strains of being a psychologist and what came with it would be nice.

I resolved to try and find her again as I walked to where the Jokers cell was. An orderly was loitering around, and I told him to get the Joker geared up into a straight jacket and ready for a session.

The man complied, though not before grabbing a few other guys to help him put the straight jacket on. Although I'd never actually heard of the Joker resisting the straight jacket, better safe than sorry, I guessed.

I ran back to my office quickly, remembering to grab my clipboard and notes, since I haven't been doing much of that lately, and Patel still expected full reports and progress.

I had told the orderlies which room to deliver the Joker to, and I made my way over quickly, not wanting to keep them waiting. Two orderlies were on either side of the door, and I nodded to them as I pushed the door to the examination room open awkwardly with my hip, due to my hands being occupied by coffee and papers.

The Joker had his head down, looking at himself—presumably his new straight jacket. As I set my papers and drink down, he looked up at me, an amused half smirk on his face. I only stared back.

As I turned to close the door, I was surprised (well, surprised is a bit of an understatement. Flabbergasted, perhaps) to see that the little red light of the surveillance camera was off, indicating nobody watching.

It seems Patel decided to do a complete 180, personality wise. The Joker attacks me, and so he decides to not supervise the sessions? I wasn't complaining, I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

As soon as the _click_ of the door shutting and locking sounded through the room, the Joker's voice filled the silence.

"So, I must have really scared you yesterday, huh?" He asked, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing, with his head, to the straight jacket. I sighed and pulled out the chair across from him, shuffling my notes as I sat down.

"The straight jacket wasn't my call, though I'm not exactly against it. Can you blame me? Where exactly did you go yesterday?" I demanded, suddenly feeling the outrage that I hadn't felt yesterday. More than that, though, I felt betrayed.

When he didn't say anything and only continued staring at me with those all knowing black holes that he claimed as his eyes, I broke eye contact, knowing full well that if he didn't want to tell me, there was no way I was going to get it out of him.

"I got you a coffee," I said, sliding the untouched, still hot black coffee I had gotten back from Joan towards him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then lowered them, staring at me as if saying, _come on, really?_ It took me a moment to figure out what was wrong, before I saw him lean down to try and lick the coffee like a dog.

"Right. Your hands." I mumbled, suddenly feeling very stupid. I hadn't yet gotten accustomed to the straight jacket.

I got up from where I sat, walking to where he was perched and standing behind him as I held my hands out, unsure. My eyes flickered to the camera that wasn't recording, and I swallowed. He could kill me with the coffee mug: shatter it into a million pieces and lodge them into the flesh of my throat, or my eye sockets.

I thought these morbid thoughts as I was unbuckling the various straps that restrained him, and I wondered vaguely if I had some deep seated wish to die.

As soon as the straight jacket was off, the Joker stretched his arms and twisted his back, and began doing some stretches that I had seen in some of Selina's aerobic videos, all the while never getting up from his chair. I chuckled to myself at how ridiculous he looked, but he paid me no mind.

Once I was seated back in front of him, he dragged the coffee towards him, looking down in it. He raised his eyebrows again in surprise, and I cocked an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" I wondered, watching as he took a small sip, testing the waters. He then swallowed a few mouthfuls.

"Oh, you know…Girl like _you_, giving me some of her coffee? I was expecting some, ah, _whip cream_, maybe." After he said that, he finished the rest in one gulp, and I watched his throat move as he swallowed.

I scoffed, taking the empty cup back after he nudged it back into the middle of the table. "I'll have you know whip cream is actually pretty damn delicious in coffee, but that was for you." I looked down to my notes as soon as I finished saying that; I could only guess what kind of look he was giving me.

I was surprised when the mockeries never came—no snide comments, no asking why. Just silence. Eventually it was enough to make me look up at him.

I instantly regretted it.

He wasn't smiling, didn't look amused, and didn't even look like he was analyzing me. He was just _looking_ at me. I didn't know how else to describe it, but he was truly _looking_ at me, trying to see every part of me he could find, as if he was trying to see through my skin and to my muscles.

He didn't look like he would be done anytime soon, but I couldn't stand the silence, and so I asked the question once more, the one everyone wanted to know:

"You're really not going to tell me? What did you do yesterday? Where did you go? You can tell me, the camera's off, as you can see." Unlike last time where it was on and unsupervised, now he couldn't deny that it was unsupervised, as it was off. I stared into his eyes, though it was hard without my glasses. They had provided me some sort of shield.

Though, like the Joker, just because my security blanket was taken away, I wouldn't let it change how I acted.

The Joker tilted his head to the side, rolling his eyes up in thought, before turning them back on me. "I was making….friends," He said simply, smacking his lips as his eyes lazily wandered the room.

"Friends?" I repeated, crossing my arms across my chest and raising an eyebrow. He only nodded.

With a frustrated huff, I decided to give up, scribbling away angrily at my notes, writing generic things such as he still doesn't trust me fully, etc.

"I gotta say though, doc," The Joker started, and I only looked at him with my eyes as I continued to write down what Patel would accept. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon…I'm pretty, ah, _impressed_."

I put my pen down, giving him my full attention again. "Yes, well, you're my patient. If I ran away from the _Joker_ after one violent outburst, then Patel wouldn't have assigned me to your case."

"Ahh, Patel," The Joker hummed, rolling the name over his tongue, tasting it. He smacked his lips then, leaning forward and looking around the room as if making sure nobody was there, before back to me. "What do you think of him?"

I raised my eyebrows, surprised at the question, and leaned back, pondering it. The proper response was, "The business between me and my employers is none of your concern", but I didn't care. He wanted to know, and I wanted to tell him.

"Time for the juicy gossip?" I joked lightly, but then answered seriously. "He's a bit annoying—dramatic, even. Likes to get a reaction out of people. Too serious for my tastes, though he's dedicated to his job, and hard working. Cares more about Arkham than Dr. Arkham himself. If you're asking me whether I like him or not, I'd say I respect him, and tolerate him." I checked the camera again for safe measure, expecting for the red light to suddenly be on.

I expected the Joker to disagree, to go on about Patel and how horrible he was, but he only stared at me yet again, and when he spoke again, it was completely unrelated.

"Hey, doc. I've been wondering…Why don't you, uh, ever ask me about _these_?" And then he smiled, showing all of his decayed teeth as he pointed to the scars. I took this opportunity to be able to look at them again, without being rude. Though I doubt the Joker cared—he probably _liked_ it.

I shrugged so slightly it was more of a twitch, still keeping my eyes on his scars. "Because, I want to save you the effort of coming up with another story, and save myself the time from having to listen to them."

The Joker stared at me blankly, and then the next second, without fail, his cackle was filling the room. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back as he giggled, and I adjusted myself in my seat, not sure if I regretted saying that or not.

It was true, though. Why would I ask him a question that's sure to result in lies? And who knows if he himself even knew how he got them.

He leaned forward again then, and there was a slight giddiness to him now. His legs were spread open, both of his hands resting on the area of the chair between them, and there was a slight bounce to him now.

"Little Harlequin doesn't like story time much, huh? It almost hurts my, ah…_feelings_." He said it in a tone that would imply anything but hurt feelings, but I humored him, nonetheless.

"It's not that I'm not curious," I answered honestly. "Who wouldn't be? But I'm sure you've heard of the boy who cried wolf, so…I guess that makes you…The man who cried scars. Besides, I'm here to talk about you and to you, the Joker. Not whoever you were before…this." And I gestured to him with both of my hands, as if presenting him.

The Joker perked up at that, and sat forward, leaning on one elbow as he pointed his index finger into his temple. "But what if the explanation to how…_crazy_ I am, is all in the past? What if the explanation, is in the story? Isn't that how you psychologists, uh…_do_ things? Look into the past and see what, ah, _fucked_ us up?"

I weighed what he said, bobbing my head left to right, though finally stopped when I had an answer. "Not necessarily. Sure, hearing about your past would definitely shine some light on your situation, but it wasn't trauma or how you got your scars that made you like this."

The Joker only raised an eyebrow, encouraging me to go on with his hands.

"You were already like this. An incident from your childhood, or however you got your scars…that's not what _made_ you the Joker. You _are_ the Joker. You always _have_ been, and _will_ be. And because of that, knowing your past or story won't really make a difference to me. I'm here to talk to you, the Joker, right now."

The Joker looked amused—almost jolly, as if he was enjoying some inside joke that I wasn't a part of.

"So then, _doc_. If I always have been who I am, and won't ever change, tell me: _why_…am I here? Aren't you supposed to _help_ me?" He leaned back, waiting for my response, licking his mouth as he stared over at me.

I almost wanted to look at the camera again, to make sure, but I knew it wasn't on, and I didn't want to break out of the spell that we were holding each other in.

"To be honest, you're not here for help. Everyone has already labeled you as untreatable, a lost cause, even. You're here…" I paused, looking up into the ceiling light, tapping my chin with my pen. "Because people don't know what else to _do_ with you. Like dropping off a misbehaving kid to military school. They're scared of you. It's a desperate attempt to heal you, but now that they realize it won't happen, the best we can do is not to 'cure' you, but try and figure out _why_ you do what you do.

And no matter what you do, you'll always come back to Arkham, because it's a vicious cycle. They want to heal you, but cant because you're too _insane_, and so they'll try and figure you out, but can't because you're too insane to understand, so then they want to heal you…and, in the end, everyone is just wasting their time."

The Joker hadn't said a word throughout my whole speech, and he had turned his head down to listen, not even moving. Now that I was done, though, he looked up at me slightly, and I couldn't tell if he was smiling slightly, or not.

"So, doc. Where do _you_ fit into all that?" The Joker asked, turning his head back to the ground, his green tinged hair tousled and falling around his face.

I pondered this. "I'm not sure. I'm certainly not trying to heal you, and never claimed to. If you recall, the very first questions I asked you besides your name, was why you do what you do. I'm trying to understand you, I'd say. It's a bold statement, but I think I'm starting to. More than anyone _else_ in this building, anyway."

The Joker looked back up then, leaning forward and gripping my face in one of his hands, so that my cheeks were squeezing together.

"You understand me? Well, Doc…Now _that's_ a problem. You said it yourself—they try to understand me, but I'm—I'm too…._crazy_!" And then he let go of my face, standing up and making a big movement with his arms. "If you understand me, or _think _you do…well, I'm sure there are extra cells in Arkham."

I rubbed my cheeks where he had dug his fingers into, hoping he didn't leave marks. "No," I said flat out, looking up at him as I let go of my cheek. "That's where they're wrong, though. You're not insane, and I'm not insane for understanding you. They just can't grasp the fact that, just because you aren't another exact copy of a 'normal' human being, it doesn't mean you're insane. It just means you're different. And if they ever do finally figure that out, well, you'll finally have a nice cozy cell in Blackgate Prison."

The Joker rested his chin on his wrist, his stare alternating between me and my notes. In case he could read them, I pulled them back and put them on my lap.

"Anyway, enough about me and what I think. I'm your psychologist, here to talk about _you_. So—"

The Joker interrupted by slamming his hand on the table, causing the coffee mug to clatter against the table. I leaned back in surprise, and when an orderly from outside asked if everything was alright, I told him everything was fine.

"Ah, ah, ah. I wasn't done, doc. Got one more question for ya." He held up his index finger, waggling it, waiting for my response.

"Alright, go ahead," I allowed, my curiosity and enthrallment, once again, winning out over my professionalism.

"How do you know I'm not manipulating you? Were you really like this before our…sessions, together, doc?" he leaned back, rubbing his hands together as if he was in for a treat.

"I've thought about it," I started, looking over to see him raise an eyebrow. "Maybe you're trying to convert me to your ways, your thoughts, as a way to get out of here. And I've come to the conclusion that I don't _care._ I wouldn't call it manipulation; you've just made me more open minded—opened my eyes, in fact. I agree you're not insane, but if you think that means I have some sort of loyalty to you, or that I'd help you break out of here, then you _are_ insane."

The Joker said something then, but the buzzer went off, drowning out his voice. I knew he wouldn't repeat himself, so I just sighed in defeat. The door was locked, and the Joker picked up his straight jacket off of the floor, sliding it on. I went over to him to begin buckling it back up, a cold sweat on the back of my neck. Last time I was this close to him, it didn't end too well for me.

As I got to the higher straps, I looked up at his face, and the first thing I saw this time, was not his scars, but the circles under his eyes. He didn't even need to paint his eyes black; his natural dark circles were enough.

"Christ, how much sleep do you get?" I said aloud as I finished up the last strap, and then tiled my head to look up at him. Without thinking, I reached up to his face, stroking the dark rings with my thumb. "You really _did_ need that coffee," I commented quietly, absentmindedly. As soon as I realized the gravity of the situation and what exactly was going on, however, I jumped back.

The Joker was looking down at me, his eyebrows raised and his eyes half lidded as he stared. I retreated quickly, back to the table to gather my notes and grab the empty coffee mug.

The orderlies were starting to get impatient, considering they couldn't get the door open due to my locking it. As I was looking down and fumbling to unlock the door, I felt the joker slink up behind me, and he nudged the back of my head with his shoulder.

I hissed and whipped around, cupping the tender spot with both of my hands. The Joker laughed mischievously then, like a little kid who just got away with something. There was another look there, though, and I think he liked that he was the one who caused that pain.

Refusing to reveal the back of my head to him again, I reached behind me to unlock the door. As soon as I did so, the orderlies stormed in and I moved out of the way, allowing them access. I watched them carefully, though, to make sure that they weren't harsher than necessary to the Joker. Said man complied though, and I watched as they dragged him away (the Joker had stopped using his legs, to make it more work for them) and I couldn't help but laugh. The Joker look back at the noise, and I quickly hid my smile.

As he slipped further and further away from my view and around the corner, I just barely managed to hear: "Hey, doc. Just for future reference, I like three sugars!"

* * *

I threw my keys on the coffee table as soon as I entered my apartment, and sat down, flipping open my phone. I had spoken to Patel after work, basically just to get some answers.

One, why he turned the camera's off for the session. His response was, when we were unmonitored that one session, the Joker was more himself, and he wanted more of that. Though of course now the Joker needed a straight-jacket.

Patel trusted me to take perfect notes now, due to the lack of camera evidence, but I still left out some various things. For example, the conversation we had on why the Joker was at Arkham, I kept all of the Joker's lines the same, but skewed mine. If Patel heard what I really said, about how everyone thought the Joker was a lost cause, he would not be very pleased with me.

I also managed to ask him who the mysterious red-headed beauty was, and he told me her name was Pamela Lillian Isley, a botanist. When I had been confused on why we needed a botanist, he explained that she was an expert at making various medicinal serums using nothing but various plants and flowers. She had studied under Woodrue, who was set to fly in from South America soon to join her at Arkham.

She was about my age, and although she wasn't a psychologist as I had hoped, it would be nice to have someone in the same age group to talk to, and (hopefully) become friends with.

_Speaking of friends_…

I was about to text Selina, but decided to call her instead, realizing with shock that I hadn't spoken to her since my first session with the Joker.

_Though_, part of me piped up, _she hasn't tried to contact you either. Maybe she wants some space._

At the depressing thought, I hesitated, staring down at my phone. I had already typed in her phone number, and started to delete it one by one.

_She probably doesn't want to talk to you because she thinks you're just going to go on about the Joker, and he's not exactly her favorite person._

I dropped my phone on the couch beside me and went to look at the calendar. It was Friday today. Should I go in for work tomorrow?

"Not like you have anything else to do," I lied to myself. I _could_ call Selina, but…

Besides, Arkham wasn't a store. Working on weekends was entirely up to the person, and considering the Joker was my only patient…

_Shouldn't you take a break from him, though? Normalcy might be good._

I bit my lip, trying to decide what to do.

It came to me quickly, and I grabbed a red sharpie, circling tomorrow's date with a circle, and on the inside, wrote:

**Session with the Joker. Make friends with Red.**

* * *

_Aand Poison Ivy is introduced! Well, sans the poison, of course. And yes yes she will turn into poison ivy in this story. And writing the end of this chapter kinda depressed me. Made me realize how alone Harley is without the Joker. In the comics the only other person she really has is Pam. Kind of Selina, I guess. But not really._

_Anyway, if you like my story, I'd love if you dropped me some reviews. Or even if you don't like it, some constructive criticism is always welcome. ^^_

_Until next time!_


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